


Wild Child

by audhds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adopted Dean, Adoption, Anxiety, Bed-Wetting, Child Abuse, Epic Bromance, Eventual Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eventual Smut, Feral Dean, Homelessness, Kid Fic, Kid Sam Winchester, Kidnapping, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Sick Dean Winchester, Teen Dean Winchester, Triggers, Violence, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audhds/pseuds/audhds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a feral child who has been living on his own in the woods for years. When John stumbles across the frail, ill boy on a hunt, he knows he has to take the child in. Can John and Sam treat Dean's pneumonia and broken heart? Cue angst and family love. Warnings for past abuse and swearing. I don't own SN. Wee!Chesters Wee!Sam Wee!Dean Unrelated Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Child

Wild Child

John trekked though the forest in search of the Wendigo that had already claimed the lives of a young couple, an elderly man and a student. It was freezing cold and a crisp layer of frost had already formed over the thick layer of leaves that covered the ground.

Therefore, John was tired, cold, fed up and wanted nothing more than to head back to his son, Sammy. Sam was all he had now, Mary had been murdered by a demon before the couple could have a second child and to John, his ten-year-old was the most important thing in the world.

Well, the only important thing other than killing the sonofabitch that murdered his wife.

And this was why he just wanted to get this damned small-town hunt over and done with so that he could help Sam with his math homework and get back to the important things in life…like revenge.

However, the Wendigo clearly had other ideas and was remaining illusive. John had been searching for over half an hour now and there were still no signs, and he was just about to give up when a rustling of leaves caught his attention.

Looking up and spinning round, John was just able to make out a pale, humanoid figure amongst the dense foliage.

The Wendigo.

John tore after the monster, crashing through bushes and shrubs before finally catching another glimpse of movement.

However, now that he looked closer, the Wendigo didn't look much like a Wendigo at all.

In fact, the figure was tiny and fully clothed.

John swore. This wasn't a Wendigo at all. It was a freakin child running through the forest.

The only resemblance was the kid's milk-white skin and hunched figure.

"HEY, HEY KID! COME HERE, YOU CAN'T STAY HERE. YOU'RE IN DANGER, KID!"

"Shit!" John swore again when he saw the child turn tail and run, he just couldn't catch a break.

"LOOK KID, I'M WARNING YOU! COME HERE!" John continued to yell, thundering in the general direction that the child took off in, listening out for the rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs.

It took him ten minutes, but John eventually caught up with the child, who had buried himself in the hollow of a tree.

Now that John approached him, he could see just how awful the kid looked. His hair was matted and full of blood, dry leaves and twigs. His entire body was covered in cuts and bruising. Not to mention the fact that his clothes were torn to shreds, revealing bruising and shallow cuts.

The little boy was curled up, wheezing and shaking as if his life depended on it.

"Hey Champ, it's alright. Can you come out of there? I need to get you out of here." John was met with a pair of bright green eyes, green eyes that didn't show one ounce of understanding. The kid coughed violently, slumping further back into the hollow as he wheezed and struggled for breath.

Gingerly, John crept a little further, reaching out to take the kids hand. However, he immediately drew his hand back when the child let out an almost growl-like noise.

"Shhh, you're safe." John reached out again, flinching when the kid whimpered and yelped as soon as John touched him. The little boy tried to shrink further into the tree trunk, curling up into the smallest ball possible and cowering.

John could literally see him shaking, but did not relinquish his grip. In fact, he tightened his hold on the child, ignoring the struggling and pulling him out from his hiding place.

"Come on, it's all ok Kid. Shhh, don't be afraid." The boy wriggled, desperately trying to free his wrist, coughing with his face bowed in fear as he gasped for air.

John finally extricated the child fully from his hole, setting the boy down on two feet but keeping a hand on his shoulder.

However, as soon as the child showed signs of bolting, he scooped him up, trying to ignore the child's growls, screams and kicks. His skinny frame was practically convulsing with fear and John was hardly surprised when the terrified child vomited all over his front.

The vomit was a mess of vibrant greens and red and John grimaced in disgust.

For a moment he wondered what the kid must have eaten for his sick to look like that…probably leaves and berries.

God, how long had the kid been surviving on his own in the woods?

The little boy in his arms renewed his efforts, struggling harder than before and causing John to tighten his grip around the kid's waist.

"Shhh, stop struggling, Kid, you're gonna make me hurt you, and I don't want to do that. C'mon, settle down. Shhhhh, it's ok, you're safe. I've got you. I'm gonna make sure you get back to where you belong; you don't have to live out here anymore. C'mon, you're freezing Kiddo."

The child stared at John, continuing to wriggle, panting and wheezing miserably.

John held tighter, causing the boy to renew his efforts, snarling a little before sinking his teeth hard into John's arm, causing the hunter to drop the kid to the ground in shock.

By the time John got clumsily to his feet, the kid was long gone, stumbling though the forest…the forest which was inhabited by a Wendigo.

"Jesus, some days you just shouldn't get out of bed!" John stared around, completely disorientated. It was clear that the kid had much better bearings in the forest than he did and he knew there was no way he could track the child through the dense undergrowth.

Which left him with only one option.

He had to find the Wendigo before the Wendigo found the child.

And then he had to find the child himself and sort him out.

It was going to be a long, long day.

It took John twenty minutes to find tell-tale claw marks in some tree trunks and he redoubled his effort, sprinting from tree to tree and bush to bush, futilely searching for the monster.

Everything was a blur of green and brown and by the time John took a breather, doubled over panting whilst leaning on a tree, he knew he needed something, anything to help him find the Wendigo.

At that moment, he would have been grateful for any sign.

Well, any sign apart from the one he got.

An ear piecing scream echoed around the woodland and John's heart froze.

The child.

With one final push, John ran over to the commotion, small shrieks and yowls of pain informing him about where to go.

And then everything went silent.

"SHIT! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU FUGLY SON OF A BITCH? GET AWAY FROM THAT CHILD RIGHT NOW!"

With a burst of energy, John stormed into a clearing and saw the Wendigo, which was bringing its claws down upon the boy's arm, which he was using to protect his face.

Another scream of pain echoed and bounced back between the trees as the boy fell to the ground, completely limp and unmoving.

Anger coursed through John and he pulled out his flamethrower, shooting the creature right between its shoulder blades.

It fell to the floor with a howl and landed half across the boy, who still wasn't moving.

John approached the crumpled figures quickly, rolling the burning Wendigo off of the boy before taking stock of the damage. A quick press of fingers to the boy's neck revealed that the boy was alive, but John was not at all happy when he felt how weak his pulse was.

Now that he was closer and the boy was not struggling against him, it became clear just how long the child had been living rough. His hair was shoulder length and matted with blood and mud, his clothes were at least three sizes too big and John could see the kid's cheek bones and jawline poking through his skin.

With a few choice swearwords, John poured whisky from his hipflask onto the wound on the boy's arm, grateful that the child was unconscious and would not feel the sting. Then, he grabbed some bandages from his oversized pockets and wrapped them tight around the deep cuts. It would have to do for the time being.

Once this was done, John scooped the boy up and wrapped him in his own jacket, before turning and carrying him in the vague direction of the Impala.

Judging by his height, the boy was probably around twelve years old, although he could have passed for a lot less considering how thin and rakish he was.

But at least he was still out of it, slumped against John and not putting up a fight.

However, after ten minutes, the boy stirred in his arms and immediately began to scream, howling and kicking wildly, a manic, animalistic glint in his eyes.

And then it dawned on John.

The kid was completely feral; it didn't look like he had had human contact in years.

John did his best to rock the boy and hummed soothingly, but nothing worked, so he tried to make it back to the car even faster.

Once he reached the Impala, he considered his options. The kid would draw attention if he sat in the front of the Impala, but if he was in the backseat he wouldn't be able to keep an eye on the child and the little boy would probably freak out and attack him.

Neither option was great, but it wasn't as if he could leave the boy in the trunk or anything.

With a sigh, John carried the kid to the trunk, opening it and pulling out a bundle of blankets before wrapping the writhing child in them.

He practically swaddled the boy so that he wouldn't be able to kick or hit him as he drove before putting him in the shotgun seat. The boy wriggled hopelessly and whimpered in fright, his face ashen as John strapped him in with the seat belt.

"Don't worry, we'll sort this out. I'll take care of you for now."

The boy didn't respond so John turned on the radio to break the monotonous silence. Metallica began to play and John began to tap the rhythm out on the dashboard, glancing over at the green-eyed-boy every once and a while to check he was still alright.

Of course, there was no need for this because the boy's constant coughing alerted him that he was alive, if not well.

However, there was one difference. The little boys eyes had widened at the music and something akin to a smile had formed across his lips. He bobbed his head gingerly in time with the music when he thought John wasn't watching and eventually relaxed.

It was almost as if he remembered the tune from a past life.

John turned the radio up a little

The kid was clearly exhausted and after twenty minutes the little boy's head slumped forward and he feel asleep, his mouth wide open as he wheezed and sniffled.

John knew he had his work cut out, but for now he was going to take things one step at a time and his first step was taking the child home, feeding him up and sorting Sammy out.

…

John pulled up outside Bobby's house, where he and Sam had been living for the last month. John had been behind on rent at their last place and eventually he'd been forced to swallow his pride and ask the older hunter for help.

It was either move in with Bobby or force Sam to live on the streets or in a rank motel room.

He knew that it was rude to bring a stranger into his home without permission, but Bobby was on a hunt of his own and he really needed to get back to Sam, who had spent the day alone. It wasn't as if he could leave the half-dead kid in a cardboard box outside a police station either…he had to know the child would be ok and that he had a safe and loving family to go back to.

The alternative was unthinkable.

After all, the kid was only about two or three years older than his own little boy and John couldn't bear the idea of anything happening to his own son. Why should this kid be treated differently?

Making up his mind, John lifted the sleeping boy out of the car, and cuddling him close, locked up the Impala and took the kid inside Bobby's house, upstairs and into his temporary bedroom.

Thankfully, Bobby's house was much larger than the single man needed, meaning that he had two spare bedrooms, one double for Sam and one twin room John. He had allowed his son to have the bigger room to make up for being on a past hunt for three nights.

Anyway, at least this way the new kid wouldn't have to sleep in the same room as Sam, he could stay where John can keep an eye on him.

It wasn't that the hunter didn't trust the new boy, but thoughts of how animalistic the kid was made him fear Sam being attacked or hurt…he couldn't risk that.

Once the child was tucked in – he hadn't so much as stirred the whole time – John went downstairs to where Sammy was fast asleep on the sofa. Judging by the empty litre bottle of coke and half-eaten packet of Haribo, the kid had tried to stay up to meet him, but he hadn't been successful.

"Sammy, Sammy…wake up Champ. Daddy's home." John knelt next to his son, wiping a stray lock of floppy hair away from his face and brushing a kiss against his forehead.

"M-wha? D'ddy?" Sam stirred, blinking up at John sleepily before coming to his senses.

"DADDY! You're home! I missed you real bad; I tried to stay up but…"

"That's alright, how ya doing kiddo?"

"Good, I watched some TV and did all my math homework, and my history. And I finished my painting for art and Sir said it was really pretty – you know…the one based on Van Gough! Oh, and I finished my English project."

"Well done son, I'm proud of you."

"OH! Guess what Dad!"

"What?" John could see where this was going and tried to conceal his smile.

"I got full marks in my Geography homework! The teacher said I did amazing and I got a bag of Haribo for being good!"

"I can see that." John laughed softly at chucked the empty wrapper at his son before tickling his sides.

"S-stop! Daddy! N-Stop!" Sam giggled, desperately thrashing and trying to escape the tickle torture.

"Ok, ok…" John stopped, forcing a straight face on, "look, Sammy. I have something important to talk to you about."

"What Dad? Am I in trouble…I didn't do anything! I stayed here all day like you told me to."

"I know you did, you're not in any trouble. If anything, I am."

"What did you do Daddy?"

"You know I was hunting…deer-" John quickly covered, he didn't want his son to know about the supernatural yet, he was too young to be put in any kind of danger.

"Yeah?"

"Well, when I was in the woods I found a little boy. He's a bit older than you but he's not very well. He's been living on his own for a while and he needed somewhere to stay, so I took him home and he's asleep upstairs. I need you to be a really good boy and be quiet when you go up. He needs rest because he has a really bad cough and he hasn't eaten in ages."

"Ok Daddy. Shall I make him some toast? I made myself peanut butter and jelly toast when you were out and I didn't burn it at all!"

"Thanks Sam, but not yet. The little guy needs some sleep at the moment."

"What's his name Dad?"

"I don't know son, he hasn't talked yet."

"Ok. Do you think he'll play with me tomorrow?"

"Uh, maybe not. He's frightened and hasn't spent time with people for a long while. His Mummy and Daddy weren't looking after him."

"Oh…maybe be the day after then?"

"Maybe…Now, it's bedtime for you."

"I'm not tired." Sam yawned, completely exhausted as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

Unsurprisingly, he soon lost out against tiredness and fell asleep in his Dad's arms.

John smiled gently, stroking his son's hair before carrying him upstairs and tucking him in with his favorite toy dog.

Once he had turned out the light and pulled Sam's curtains closed, John strolled back to the other boy in his room.

Then he froze.

The little boy was nowhere to be seen and nor were his blankets.

The kid wasn't in his twin bed, or John's twin bed, or the corner of the room…or by the bookcase.

"Shit!"

John now thoroughly regretted his choice of not locking the door and was about to walk back into the hallway in search of the kid when he heard a pained wheeze.

He whipped around, staring until he realized where the sound had come from.

Beneath the bed.

The hunter knelt down on his haunches, and saw a tell tale, vibrating bundle of fabric, as well as a pale hand sticking out beneath it. The child was still trembling violently and John could tell that he was struggling for breath.

"Hey, c'mon Ace, can you come out from under there? I'll get you some water. C'mon. Please…I've got a bottle of water that you can have. Your throat sounds really sore. Out you come…" John leant forward, gingerly sliding his arms underneath the bed, scooping the boy out and panicking slightly when he didn't so much as whimper or struggle.

The child just looked up at him with wide green eyes and continued to cough feebly.

The fight had clearly left him and the kid looked close to crashing completely. This worried John even more than the child screaming and crying…somehow the kid looked empty and hollow.

John tried not to think about what the little boy had been through.

"Ok, well done. You're doing good Champ. Just drink this slowly…sip it." John tipped a bottle of water gently so the boy could drink without spilling the liquid.

His hands were shaking so violently that John doubted his ability to get the water from the bottle to his lips.

The boy finally pulled away, coughing more violently than before and doubling up in pain.

"Hey, that's ok Buddy. You're doing real good. Can you tell me your name?"

The boy shook his head sadly, turning away from John and squirming away from his embrace, but not before John felt his forehead.

"You're burning up Kiddo; looks like you got pneumonia or summin'. Let me help you, please."

The child looked up, confused, but allowed John to rub his back and neck as he continued to cough and sniff miserably. Once one of the most violent coughing fits stopped, John lifted the boy to the bathroom and wiped the sweat away from his forehead with a cool cloth.

After this though, the boy seemed to come round a bit more and struggled free from his grasp, whimpering softly.

John crouched down and scooped the boy up, managing to wrap his arms around the jumble of thrashing limbs in an attempt to keep the boy still.

"Ok, back to bed for you." The boy panted frantically in John's arms, only relaxing when John placed him down on the floor, expecting the boy to climb into bed.

But he didn't, instead the boy took back his blanket and buried himself back under the bed. Maybe he felt safer there.

John watched sadly as the boy's breaths began to even out before he slumped down on his own bed.

He was asleep in mere seconds.

…

The next morning John was woken by the sound of the little boy wheezing and struggling hard for each breath.

"Ok, easy there, easy. C'mon. Breathe for me, c'mon, in and out. That's it, c'mon."

The boy whimpered and curled up tighter, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes as he began coughing so violently that specs of blood were expelled onto the hardwood floor.

"Ok, shhh, I'm going to go out and get you some medicine. Stay right here, ok?"

The boy didn't respond in any way other than wheezing frantically and shrinking back.

John took this as an 'ok.'

He hurried into Sam's room and shook his son awake, swiftly telling him to leave the other boy alone and stay put as he was going to the chemist.

Of course, his boy nodded obediently and simply asked for John to buy him a chocolate bar when he was out.

John practically ran to the Impala and returned just half an hour later equipped with a chocolate bar and antibiotics that he had stolen from the local pharmacy.

Sam munched on the chocolate – delighted that his Dad had allowed him to eat it before breakfast – while John went into his room and helped the boy swallow the tablets. The task was certainly a battle of wills and in the end John had resorted to pinning the terrified boy down and forcing the pill down his throat.

It wasn't the most humane method, but it was effective.

As soon as John let go of the boy, he stumbled onto all fours and threw up all over the floor, gagging and heaving frantically.

John sighed and attempted to rub the child's back, but the kid wasn't having any of it. As soon as John got near him, the boy snarled and snapped, biting the air in an attempt to defend himself.

Luckily, years of hunting had improved John's reflexes and he was able to avoid being bitten…again.

Knowing he was fighting a loosing battle, John left and dissolved another pill in water…he didn't know if it would have the same effect, but it was worth a try.

John left the bottle by the boys bed and ten minutes later, he was satisfied when the child took the bottle and drank it. He screwed his face up at the taste, but at least the tablet stayed down this time.

However, when John took a god look at the child, the boy looked worse than before.

"Ok Kid, I need you to get some rest for me." The child didn't respond, lying completely limp in John's arms as he was lifted back onto the bed and tucked in. He flinched when John brushed his skin by accident, but other than that he stayed still, almost as if he was playing dead.

"Get some more sleep little guy. Things'll be better later when the antibiotics have kicked in."

The boy didn't respond other than curling in on himself and continuing to shake beneath the covers, so with a soft sigh, John cut his losses and left the room.

…

"Daddy, I'm booooored! I've done all my homework! Can we go to the park?"

"Sorry Champ, but I need to look after the little boy upstairs."

"But he hasn't woken up all day…he probably wont notice if we go!"

"That's not the point Sam. Tell you what, why don't you help me make dinner?"

"Oh! Cool…what can we make?"

"What do you want to make?"

"Macaroni! And garlic bread!"

"Ok, let's get to it then."

Ten minutes later Bobby's kitchen was filled with the scent of garlic and cheese sauce and when they were finally done, Sam looked up at his father excitedly.

"Can I take the other boy's food up?"

"Uh…"

"Pleeeeeeeeeease!" Sam pulled out the puppy-dog eyed and John immediately knew he had been defeated. Damn those wide eyes and long lashes…they were a lethal weapon!

"Fine, but be nice and quiet and don't upset him. And remember, he doesn't talk."

"Ok!"

Sam bounded upstairs with two plates of macaroni and cutlery precariously balanced in his hands.

Then, the little boy burst through his father's bedroom door with a wide grin on his face.

"HELLO! I'm Sam…but if I like you, you can call me Sammy! I have food! It's really good! I made it by myself…with Daddy, but I did most of it. Do you want to be my best friend? We can play ball all the time and you can help me with my homework!"

He froze when he saw the bed was empty.

"DADDY! There's no-one here." Sam pulled out the full on Sammy-pout, frowning so that his dimples seemed to stand out more than usual.

John hurried after his son, ruffling his hair before gently pointing under the bed.

"Oh…"

Sam knelt down by the bed and peered underneath.

"Hello! I'm Sam!"

The boy under the bed whimpered a little, curling away from Sam.

"Hey! You can't go back to sleep! I made food for you, its mac n' cheese! It's really yummy, I promise. And I cooked the garlic bread all by myself!"

The other child whimpered again, hunching up and coughing harshly.

"You know, it's rude to ignore people! Daddy will put you on the naughty step if you're a bad boy…wait a minute…"

Sam put the plates down before crawling under the bed with the other boy.

"Come out! We need to eat! And I wanna play!"

"Sam, remember what I said about being calm and not disturbing the kid?!"

Sam ignored this and continued making his way under the bed, his little bum sticking out in the air.

John couldn't help but chuckle.

The other boy however, was not impressed and began to whimper, pulling himself out from under the bed in an attempt to get away from Sam.

However, this didn't really work to his advantage as in his haste to get away, the boy managed to crawl straight into John.

He looked up fearfully and flinched when the hunter rested a hand on his shoulder, but when Sam climbed out and inched the mac n' cheese towards him, hunger won his internal battle.

The boy couldn't remember the last time he had eaten anything like macaroni, it had been one of his favorites, his Mummy would make it for him before…before everything went bad.

Tears prickled in the kid's bright green eyes, but he didn't let them fall, focusing on eating the food as quickly as he could. Of course, he didn't bother with cutlery, choosing instead to cram the food in his mouth with his fingers.

John watched horrified, he had seen that the child was made of nothing but skin and bones, but still he hadn't quite expected the kid to be this hungry.

As soon as the boy had cleared his plate, nausea hit him and he swallowed hard to keep the food down. His stomach wasn't used to such rich food after living off of things from the forest for three years (since he was ten) but he managed to keep it all down after a while.

"Was that nice? Did you like it?"

Sam's eyes were wide and expectant, so the other boy nodded. He didn't know why, but now that he looked closer, he noticed that the other child had an innocent, trustworthy face.

"D'ya wanna play now?"

Sam took the other child's lack of response as a yes and beamed, grabbing a bouncy ball and throwing it to the other boy, allowing it to bounce between them.

The kid caught it and smiled for the first time before throwing the ball back, making Sam beam from ear to ear.

John watched the heart-warming sight and inwardly did a happy dance.

Sammy could win anyone over with his wide eyes and dimples…not to mention those chubby little cheeks.

John was so proud of his son for making the other kid come out of his shell a little.

"What's your name?" Sam asked after five more minutes of bouncing the ball.

There was no response.

"Please tell me, it's weird not being able to call you something!"

John smiled encouragingly when a set of imploring green eyes met his own, and eventually the child answered.

"D-D-Dean."

…

As soon as Dean had spoken, he seemed to freeze completely, running straight back to his hiding place under the bed and burying himself there.

Despite John's coaxing and Sam's pleading, the boy refused to come out so in the end the Winchesters gave up, John spending the rest of the day watching films with Sammy before clambering into his bed and trying to catch some shut eye. It had been difficult sleeping the night before with Dean's constant litany of whimpers, snuffles and coughs and he was beyond exhausted.

The next morning, John smiled when he saw that Dean had clambered out from under the bed and was sitting up on the floor, playing with a loose thread on his blanket.

The little boy's breathing seemed to have cleared a little and John was glad that the antibiotics were beginning to kick in…although Dean let out a hacking cough a few seconds later and John decided not to thank his lucky stars quite so soon.

"Morning Dean, how are you feeling?"

A pair of green eyes blinked up at him and John smiled comfortingly, shifting into a sitting position and arching his back a little.

Dean, having watched John do this, copied the motion, wincing when he stretched the cuts on his back.

"You alright Dean?" John didn't fail to notice the loud hiss of pain that Dean let out and cautiously went over to the boy, who nodded that he was alright.

He checked the boy's back just in case, and when satisfied, he ruffled Dean's hair tentatively. Unsurprisingly, Dean jerked away and let out a startled yelp.

"Uh…so how about some breakfast? I bet you're hungry!"

Dean nodded and followed John over to the chest of drawers, where the hunter had laid out some of Sam's clean clothes the night before.

Dean flinched away when John attempted to pass him the clothes, so John set them down on the floor and left the boy to it.

"When you're done, d'ya wanna head downstairs into the kitchen? Sammy is desperate to get to know you a bit more." Dean nodded again and slipped into his clothes once John had left the room, pulling up the pants self consciously – they were far too big for him despite being sized for a ten year old and constantly fell down.

He then trudged downstairs, clinging to the handrail uncertainly before stealing himself and forcing himself into the room where he saw Sam and John sitting at the table.

"Hey Dean! Do you want some cereal? I've got Lucky Charms, they're my favorite, or there's Fruit Loops…they're multicolored and taste really good…but Charms are better!"

"C'mon Sammy, let the poor kid get a word in edgeways!" John chuckled, before turning his attention to Dean.

"What do you want to eat kiddo?" Dean shrugged softly, but his eyes went straight to the Lucky Charms. Mummy had given those to him before she went away. His Dad had stopped buying them after she disappeared, stating that his mother was in some place called Heaven and that she wouldn't come to see him any more and that now he had to be a big boy and eat big boy's cereal like Cheerios – which were icky!

Of course, Dean guessed that the real reason behind this was that he had been bad and that his Mum was angry with him, so he had tried to be on his best behavior, doing all his chores without complaint and making Dad his coffee.

His Mum still didn't return, but Dean carried on regardless.

One night, he had walked in with a milky decaf coffee for his father and found him slumped on the sofa, crying.

Dean had walked over to him, attempting to wrap his tiny arms around his Dad for a cuddle, but his Dad had snapped, hitting Dean hard in the face and causing him to fall back to the ground.

Dean stared in shock at the boiling liquid spreading over himself; a damp patch on his T-Shirt began to form and his skin was burning.

But Dean didn't cry.

Daddy didn't like it when he cried.

That night was the start of everything going wrong.

When his Dad was crying or angry, he would lock Dean in his room and not play with him anymore. He always looked really sad or disappointed, no matter how good Dean was.

The then ten-year-old couldn't work out what he had done wrong.

Sometimes, his father would lock Dean away for days, but when he came home he'd always apologize and tell Dean that he loved him. Then they'd play baseball for a while.

But things didn't always run so smoothly after a few months of abuse and apologies.

Sometimes his Dad would come back home smelling funny, and on those days he would pull Dean by his hair and throw him to the ground before kicking him and hitting him with his belt.

Dean shuddered at the memory and without his realization; tears began to fill his eyes.

"Hey, Dean? Are you ok Champ? What's wrong?" John had been watching Dean tentatively for the past three minutes. Ever since he had laid eyes on the cereal, the little boy had seemed to switch off, his entire body had gone rigid and now he was trembling violently and crying.

John didn't know what to make of it; obviously the cereal had been some sort of trigger.

Sam too looked bewildered, clambering off his seat and wrapping his arms around the older boy. Dean attempted to pull away but Sam was having none of it.

"Don't cry, or you'll make me sad. Daddy gives me ice cream when I'm sad…do you want ice cream for breakfast…do you not like cereal?"

Dean shook his head, staring down at his clenched fists and burying his head in Sam's long hair. He gave up struggling and crumpled into the boy's offered support. Soon, the tears overtook him and he began to sob violently, clinging onto Sam as he felt the sobs tearing him apart.

John watched as the two boys hugged each other and went over to them, pulling them both into his arms and rocking the boys gently until Dean had calmed down and was reduced to nothing more than sniffles and the occasional hiccup.

"What was all that about kid? D'ya wanna talk about it?" Dean shook his head miserably, fisting John's shirt for a while longer before finally falling relaxing fully in his arms.

"Ok, I won't push it any further, but if you ever need to talk, just let me know." Dean nodded and blushed when his stomach rumbled loudly.

"Well, sounds like you could do with some ice cream."

"Can I have some too?"

"Sure Sammy." John smiled, lifting his boys up and settling them down on the kitchen chairs before retrieving a tub of vanilla and a tub of chocolate ice cream from the freezer.

"Here ya go…but don't get used to this Dean, you're not having ice cream for breakfast every day." Dean smiled softly and watched as Sam took the vanilla ice cream and scooped out a huge amount. He did the same, taking the chocolate instead.

A grin slipped over his face at the taste and soon he had eaten over half of the tub.

"Do you wanna play now? I have some board games! C'mon, I'll show you how to play them!"

Dean looked at John for permission before following the younger boy into the lounge area, where they spent three hours playing Operation, Snakes and Ladders, Mouse Trap and Monopoly.

Sam was beside himself with excitement as usually his dad was out hunting deer or something and didn't always have time to play with him. Now, it was like he had a big brother to play with whenever he wanted. It was a dream come true.

However, after their fifth hour of games, Dean began to nod off and soon he was fast asleep, curled up on the floor. His breaths were coming in sharp wheezes and Sam wondered whether or not he should leave Dean to sleep…but he had gotten out his favorite film – Finding Nemo – and was determined to introduce Dean to it.

"Hey! Wake up! I wanted to watch a film! You can't sleep yet, it's too early! It's not even bed time!"

Sam scowled when Dean ignored him and decided to poke him a few times in the side. However, Dean didn't stir, so he straddled the older boy and poked him harder in the chest, calling out the other boy's name

"DEAN!"

Dean jumped out of his skin when he felt something heavy pinning him down and instinct took over. Before he knew what he was doing, Dean backhanded Sam hard in the face, sending the child flying head-first into the wooden chair, where with a resounding thud, the boy fell limp.

"Sam! Dean! What was that bang?"

John hurried into the room, freezing when he saw his son unconscious on the floor and a guilty, wide-eyed Dean.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?" John bellowed, rushing to his son's side.

All of his worst fears had come true. The feral child was a danger to his son, young or not he clearly had a violent tendency and this was the result.

Dean let out a choked gasp of shock, backing into the corner and curling up with fear. He began to cry and hiccup until eventually his stomach revolted and he vomited up all of the ice cream from earlier onto the carpet beside him. Dean knew this would just make John angrier, and pure, unadulterated fear took over. Dean was left dizzy, heaving and milk-white.

John ignored this, checking over Sam's vitals and tapping his face until the little boy stirred.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, it's me Ace. Are you feeling ok? Are you dizzy? Can you see straight? Is anything blurry?"

"I'm fine Dad."

"Good. Right, can you go to your room and play games while I talk to Dean?"

"It wasn't his fault Dad, I scared him."

"Just go up Sammy. Well done for being such a brave boy."

When Sam left, John went over to Dean, who was seemingly paralyzed with fear.

"Look, Dean…" John reached forward and touched Dean's shoulder, pulling back when the kid jumped violently and let out a terrified whimper. Dean curled further in on himself, plastering his back against the wall protectively. The scars along his spine were now stinging more than ever - a constant reminder of his past abuse.

Dean didn't want John to add more whip marks to his collection.

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you, but I can't have you hurting Sammy again. Promise me you will never hit him like that again, or I will have to punish you."

Dean shuddered at the mention of punishment, tears filling his eyes as he hung his head low and nodded in agreement.

He had been bad again…maybe he deserved to be punished now, but he was grateful that John would let him off this time.

John sighed deeply, realizing that he had terrified the child by yelling.

"Ok, Dean. You're ok, Sam's fine. Don't worry about it." John hummed soothingly, picking up the boy and trying to ignore how bad he smelt. The kid really, really needed a shower or a bath, but now was not the time.

For now, he settled with hugging Dean until the boy squirmed away and buried himself beneath the coffee table.

He didn't come out until dinner, where Sam sat and chatted happily and Dean finally seemed to accept the fact that John wasn't going to hurt him.

That night, Dean took less time to fall asleep and didn't bury himself quite so far under his bed. John took this as a minor victory and settled down feeling as if he had finally convinced Dean that he meant no harm.

…

Half way through the night, Sammy clambered into bed next to John, shaking softly and sniffling about a midget clown chasing him through a maze.

The hunter sighed, wrapping an arm around his son and pulling him up into bed by his side.

He really didn't want his son sleeping in the same room as Dean, the older boy had already shown once that he was capable of hurting him - but at the same time he couldn't refuse to comfort his son and he had to keep track on the other child.

It was a loose, loose situation.

"Shhh, its ok Sammy, Daddy's got you. No clowns are ever gonna hurt you on my watch, ok?"

"B-but it wasn't just a c-clown." Tears slipped from the corners of Sam's eyes as he continued, "it was a m-midget clown and…and…"

"I promise I'll protect you Sammy, just go back to sleep and I will keep watch."

"Ok Daddy, love you."

"I love you too, my beautiful boy."

John smiled as he watched his son begin to fall back asleep, carding through his messy hair for a while before drifting off to sleep himself.

…

Ten minutes later, John jerked awake when he felt the right side of his bed dip and in an instant he was brandishing his knife, pinning down the struggling creature beside him with one hand.

Mad visions of midget clowns popped into John's mind…dammit Sammy…but he quickly dismissed them as ridiculous.

Whatever the hell the monster was, it didn't have fur…in fact…

John blinked the sleep from his eyes and realized that what he was clinging onto was the Dean's skinny wrist, which explained the startled yowl and whimpering noise that pierced through his eardrums.

John cursed himself.

As soon as the kid began to trust him enough to stay in the same room as him without freaking, John went and screwed it up.

He had probably terrified the poor boy…again.

"Shit, sorry…I-" John was at a loss.

He didn't have a clue what to do, other than let go of Dean's hand, which he did.

He then threw the knife to the floor and turned on the light, causing Sam to stir groggily.

"Dad-what?"

"Go back to your room, Sammy."

"But Daaaaaad!"

"NOW." Sam nodded and crawled out of bed, realizing that Dean had clambered into bed with them.

In fact, he could hear the older boy whimpering and yelping in fright.

"Night…"

John sighed in relief and turned his head to the wide-eyed child, who was cowering between the sheets, curled up into a tiny ball nursing his wrist.

"Kid, uhhh…" John knew it was stupid trying to talk to the child when he was like this. He was pretty much unresponsive when he wasn't scared out of his wits – he hadn't spoken since revealing his name – but John didn't know what the hell else he could do.

Dean continued to shake and John noted the spreading pool of urine on his bed. The dampness spread until John could feel it against the jogging bottoms he was wearing…gross.

With a sigh, he settled back down on the bed, placing a hand on the boy's back and trying to ignore the stench of sweat, dirt, vomit, grime and urine.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, c'mon, let's get you cleaned up." John lifted the kid up, sighing when the child's trembling ceased, only to be replaced by a rigid stiffness that reminded him of a rabbit in the headlights.

"C'mon, you're gonna have to take a shower."

The boy in his arms didn't as much as twitch, although his breathing was coming in harsh pants.

"You're safe, I promise." John lowered his voice, keeping it gentle and soothing…well, at least he was trying to.

When he got into the bathroom, John set the skinny boy down onto the toilet lid before turning on the shower onto a hot, but not boiling temperature.

He had wanted to clean the boy up for the last few days, the smell radiating off him was unbearable, and now…now it couldn't be ignored.

"C'mon, there you go Dean."

John motioned to the shower, but the child wasn't looking at him, he had once again curled into a ball and had buried his face next to his legs, along with his sore hand.

"Ok son, let me take a little look at that hand of yours."

When the boy didn't move, John took hold of his arm and checked it over for any breaks, flinching when he saw how much damage he had caused. The skin was already black and blue, but at least nothing was broken.

He also jumped when the boy snarled and hissed a little, looking up at John with a wild glint in his eyes.

It looked as if what little progress they had made had been reversed.

"Don't be afraid, you're ok. It's nothing too bad, just some bruising." John knew that he may as well have been talking to a brick wall, but at least it was making him feel better.

"Come on, just take a shower, no offense but you really, really need a shower."

The child stared at him blankly, so John guided him off of the toilet seat and cautiously began to pull off the boy's oversized T-shirt.

Once again, Dean began to shake violently, trying to pull away frantically and yowling as John began to lift up the rank material.

Images flashed through Dean's mind and suddenly he was back in the bad place with his dad hovering over him, belt in hand.

Dean choked back a sob and began to struggle as much as he could…he didn't want Daddy to hurt him again.

Back in reality, limbs threw themselves around everywhere, the child once again clawing at John, kicking him hard in the shin, causing them both to tumble to the floor.

"Shit!"

By the time John had clambered back to his feet, Dean had already curled up in the corner of the room, jammed in the small gap between the toilet and the wall.

There was no way in hell that John could remove the kid by force, he would just have to coax the child out.

He turned off the shower – no point in wasting hot water – and crouched down in front of the child, reaching out a little and placing a hand on the kid's knee.

"C'mon Ace, you can't stay in there forever."

Green eyes looked up at John, blinking a few times. The boy's face was pale and he showed no signs of understanding John, but after a while his shoulders became less tense and he stopped snarling.

"Can you come out from there kiddo?"

John backed away a few paces, groaning in relief when the child cautiously crawled out from his hiding place on all fours.

"Well done champ. Right, I'm gonna take your top off. Don't freak out on me again."

John advanced, raising his hands to show he wasn't going to hurt Dean any more before slowly and deliberately removing the top and throwing it to the ground, being careful not to make any sudden movements that could lead to another attack.

John spent a moment staring at Dean's torso, which was littered with deep scars, some looking fairly new but most of them old.

His back was worse than his front, long, jagged, purple scars stood out parallel to his knobbly spine and John knew that they had been made by a belt or whip…a realization that he did not want to come to.

What's more, there ware also bruises of various shades littering his entire body, ranging from yellow and green to black and purple.

The rest of the skin was caked in dirt and dried blood and John cursed himself for not doing this earlier.

Only a few areas of milk-white skin were visible and if he left it much longer the cuts would probably become infected or something.

But now, his priority was getting the boy clean.

"Ok, I'm sorry Dean, but the pants need to come off too." John removed the boy's pants, flinching when he lashed out, scratching his face with jagged nails and whimpering like a kicked dog before bursting into hacking coughs.

John rubbed his back until the boy finally regained his breath and hummed gently, cursing the antibiotics for not working fast enough.

"Shhhhh, hush, you're ok." John began to hum Hey Jude softly before scooping the green-eyed-boy up and placing him under the spray of hot water, still in his boxers.

When Dean relaxed a little, John smiled with satisfaction, wiping the blood from his cheek.

At least he had done something right.

The next thing he did, was to pass the child some soap, but the kid coughed and shook so violently that he could not grip the proffered bar.

"Uh, you need to wash…y'know, uh…" John motioned wiping his body with the soap, before handing it to the child, who stood and took the bar before rubbing it against John's clothes.

"No, no…you need to wash yourself…"

John gave up, knowing he was fighting a losing battle and stripped off his nightshirt and jogging bottoms before clambering into the shower next to the boy, who tensed as if waiting to be hit.

He knew it was probably one-hundred shades of wrong, showering with a half-naked child who was completely vulnerable, but morality be damned.

There was nothing he could do about it and this wall all for the kid's benefit, not his.

Reaching for the soap, John began to rub it gently over the boy's marred flesh, his heart breaking when the boy whimpered in pain as the suds stung his cuts.

"Shhh, you're ok now."

Dean screamed in agony when John reached a particularly nasty cut, twisting and turning against John, before doubling up and coughing again.

John forced himself to continue.

Once the boy's torso was done, John moved onto his legs, which were so spindly the hunter was surprised they could carry any weight at all.

They too were littered with cuts and bruises, but John was more worried about the prominent gap between his thighs. He really needed to fatten the boy up.

With a sigh, John realized that the boy's genitals would also have to be cleaned, so he ever so gently pulled down his boxers and used a soft cloth to wipe away the remaining urine, pleased to see that this area at least was left unharmed.

Although the kid had completely shut down with exhaustion and terror, John was glad that he at least trusted him enough to do this, and he jumped in surprise when the kid looked up at him and began to rub the soap onto John's body.

He wanted to say something along the lines of 'you don't have to do that for me…' but he knew the boy wouldn't understand, so let him get on with it.

However, when the boy reached for John's boxers, he drew the line and shook his head gently, taking the soap back and placing it on the soap dish.

The next thing to do was wash Dean's hair, which was still caked in mud, sweat and what looked like blood, despite the hot water. John took the shampoo and began to massage it into the boy's scalp, humming soothingly as he rinsed it out and started again.  
It took four lots of shampoo and two of conditioner before the boy's hair was a normal shade, which turned out to be a light, golden-brown. John was surprised, before he had assumed it was dark chocolate, considering the mud, but the color suited Dean, matching his bright green eyes.

He still needed a hair cut, but John decided to fight that battle another day.

Furthermore, John could now see that the green eyed boy's cheeks were dappled with freckles, which were previously covered by grime. It turned out the boy was actually a handsome kid, and with love, affection and food John knew that one day he would be a striking young man. He'd have no trouble getting the ladies when he was older!

But for now, John set about climbing out of the shower and wrapping them both in towels, before brushing the child's hair. This took him half an hour, as although the kid's hair was only shoulder length, it was still matted despite the conditioner – years of misuse had taken its toll.

In some areas, John was forced to pull the brush so hard that strands of golden-brown hair were yanked from the kid's head, making him whimper and cower.

Once this was all done, he handed Dean some of Sam's clothes and once he was changed, John guided Dean back to his bed.

The child got into bed obediently, closing his eyes and placing his thumb in his mouth before falling fast asleep, curled up like a cat.

He slept in the same position as his Sammy did, and when this dawned on John - he realized his mistake.

The feral child must have been awake when Sam crawled into his bed for comfort and snuggled against him.

He too must have been looking for warmth and protection. He wasn't attacking them at all; he was merely searching for the love and affection that he had been denied for so long.

After a second of deliberation, John slid on top of the covers next to Dean and wrapped an arm around his skinny frame like he used to do for Sam when he was ill or frightened.

It was the least he could do.

But it took John a while to settle his brain down. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen tomorrow. Bobby was due back from his hunt and he wondered how the gruff old hunter would react to Dean, and how Dean would react to Bobby.

It would certainly be an interesting day.

Running a hand over the child's too prominent spine, John tried to relax until he too fell asleep.

…

When John woke, he could feel Dean pressed up tight against his side, the little boy's head was resting just above John's heart and his skinny arms were wrapped loosely around his body.

John was returning the gesture, with one arm wrapped around Dean's chest so tight that he could feel the boy's ribs.

They lay there like that for another hour, John too afraid to move and wake the boy up. Luckily for John, Dean did eventually stir, moaning and unfurling himself from John.

"Morning sleepyhead. How are you feeling? Any better?" Dean nodded stiffly and shuffled away from John as best as he could without falling off the bed.

"You're ok now Dean, I ain't gonna hurt you, I promise. You know that, don't you?" Dean gave non-committal shrug of his shoulders and climbed out of bed, hovering awkwardly by the bookcase as if waiting for instruction.

John hated himself for thinking it, but the boy would be a great hunter. He was quick, wary and willing to follow orders. He was perfect for it.

"Why don't' you go into Sammy's room and ask for some clothes whilst I make breakfast?" Dean nodded gingerly and exited the room, leaving John to go downstairs and cook up an array of bacon, eggs, pancakes and maple syrup.

He was joined half an hour later by the two fully-dressed boys, who were deep in conversation. Or at least, Sam was babbling on and Dean was listening silently. John wondered if he would ever get Dean to speak again…

"Hey boys, help yourselves to some food. Dean, eat as much as you want, but you have to take your antibiotics too."

Dean nodded and took some pancakes, smothering them with maple syrup and a few rashers of bacon. In no time he had cleared his plate, and with a prompt from John, he continued eating, demolishing a second and then a third portion.

At least someone appreciated John's cooking.

"Good, huh?" Dean nodded gratefully, sitting back and enjoying the rare sensation of being full.

"Dad, can you pass the bacon please?" John nodded, passing Sam the bacon and wiping away some maple syrup from his son's chin with the pad of his thumb, causing Sam to squirm away and laugh.

"Daaaaaaaaad!" He whined, but the affect was destroyed by his burst of laugher, which made Dean jump out of his skin.

"Relax kid, you're aright." Dean nodded jerkily, smiling when he realized that he was safe.

After a few moments, he let out a small chuckle which soon erupted into full on laugher at the sight of Sam squirming and kicking.

John's eyes widened comically in shock and Sam continued to laugh, but Dean stopped almost as abruptly as he started.

If anything, he looked more shocked than the Winchesters. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed like this.

"You ok, Dean?" Sammy asked, smiling at the older boy and offering him another cup of orange juice.

Dean nodded gingerly and accepted the juice, smiling gratefully.

"Right then boys, you have a couple of hours to yourselves, and then Bobby is coming round."

"Uncle Bobby'll be back?!"

"He sure will, now Dean, Bobby is the guy who owns this place. Don't worry about him, he's soft as a brush…not that he'd ever admit it. I'm sure you'll get along swimmingly."

Fear filled Dean's eyes, but before he had a chance to protest Sam had gripped his hand and was pulling him into the back garden.

Soon, the boys were shooting hoops, only pausing to retrieve drinks and biscuits now and again.

After a while Dean had dramatically improved and John found himself watching the boy fling the ball into the basket again and again. In another life, Dean would probably have been an athlete by now. He was fast, agile and had a great aim.

John was ashamed to say that he once again found himself wondering about teaching the boy about hunting. But if he wouldn't put Sam through that, he wouldn't put Dean through it either.

Besides, he had to set about finding Dean's real family. It wasn't as if he could keep the boy forever.

With a sigh, John sat down at the kitchen table and flipped opened his laptop, looking through police files on missing children.

None of the images that flipped up looked anything like Dean.

John swore and began making calls on his mobile.

No one had any answers.

He continued this for another hour before eventually; there was a knock at the door.

Bobby.

John stood and opened the door, grinning at his friend/mentor before hugging him close and clapping the older man on the back.

"Hey man, good to see ya."

"You too, how ya been keepin' John?"

"Yeah good, I got the wendigo."

"Great, the vamps were a bit of a balls up but I go there in the end."

"Right…Um, Bobby, I need to talk to you…" Bobby recognized that guilty tone immediately.

"What have ya blown up, idjit?"

"Nothing…I kind of, well, on the hunt I found some feral kid in the woods. He's been there for a good few years. Anyway, I couldn't leave him there, so he's out the back playing basketball with Sammy."

Bobby didn't respond other than giving John a bemused expression.

"Yeah, sorry I didn't tell you earlier."

"You mean to tell me that you bought in some kid?"

"Yeah."

"Who is he?"

"His name's Dean."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Look, I have no idea who he is. I can't find him on any database. As far as I can tell, he's not in any police record or missing persons report."

"Right…I need a beer!" Bobby strode to the fridge, dropping his duffel and grabbing four cans. He tried to pass one to John, but the younger man refused, leaving Bobby drinking three on his own. He left the other one on the side for later.

"Anyway, I'll call the boys in. Just be gentle with Dean. He doesn't speak – I've only heard him talk once and that was just one word, his name. Oh, and he's real jumpy, so no fast movements."

"Ok then. I don't believe you've got me into this! Idjit…"

Bobby watched John stick his head out of the door and call for the boys and moments later he was bowled over by a bundle of plaid cotton and floppy hair that the hunter recognized as Sam.

"Hey little man!" Bobby scooped the boy up, hugging him tight for a moment before looking over at the other boy in the room.

He was as thin as a rake and looked ashen faced, but it looked as if John had cleaned him up well.

"Hello Dean, I'm Bobby." Bobby extended his hand and after a few moments hesitation and a reassuring look from John, Dean approached and began to raise his own hand.

However, when he was a foot away from Bobby, the kid backed away into the table, screaming in terror.

"Hey, Dean? What's wrong?" John stepped closer to the trembling boy, who was sobbing uncontrollably and hiding his face and back from view.

"B-b-b-bad. S-s-s-smell b-b-bad. I-D-d-don't h-h'rt me. P-pl-please!" Dean cried brokenly, swaying alarmingly and sinking to the ground by John's feet.

John and Bobby exchanged a bewildered look, before something clicked and John nodded towards the remaining can of beer. That was probably what Dean had smelt.

John didn't know whether to be pleased that Dean had spoken, or worried about what had triggered the speech. The kid was verging on a panic attack, his breaths coming in harsh pants.

John found himself wondering why Dean was so terrified of alcohol. It didn't take him long to find an explanation…Dean had been abused. John wondered whether it had been before, or after the kid was living on the streets.

Part of him hoped it was after he left home…otherwise it meant his real family had hurt him.

John shuddered at the thought of hurting his Sam.

No, Dean's parents couldn't have hurt him; he was so innocent, so frail.

John couldn't comprehend it.

The thought made him feel physically sick.

"You're ok Dean. He won' hurt you. He's a friend. I promise." Dean didn't unfurl or respond in any way.

"Look, I'll head up and wash, just calm the kid down. We can talk later."

John nodded gratefully and was relieved when Dean perked up a little when the older hunter left the room.

"You're ok Dean. C'mon, let's get you to bed for a bit. You look exhausted." John pulled the limp boy to his feet, panicking when he crumpled straight back to the ground, unconscious.

"Shit!"

"DADDY! Daddy! Is he dead?" Sam's eyes filled with tears and he began to whimper, sounding almost like Dean did when he was frightened.

"No, don't worry. He just fainted. He was just really frightened, sometimes stress does this to people. Don't worry, he's gonna be fine."

"Oh…"

"I'm going to carry him upstairs; can you take a glass of water up for me?"

"Ok Daddy."

John smiled encouragingly at his child and scooped Dean up into his arms, carrying the frail boy upstairs and lying him down on the bed.

Eventually, with Sam perched by his head and John sat in a chair next to his bed, Dean stirred and let out a choked groan.

Then, he jerked awake and struggled to sit upright. He barely had time to panic before he was pushed down again by a warm hand on his chest.

"Hey, it's okay, it's okay," said a slightly breathless but recognizable John. "Don't get up so fast. You'll just go down again. Just relax. You're safe, just stay still. Drink this."

Dean didn't feel as if he had much choice, as a moment later a glass of water was pressed to his lips and John was still pinning him down.

"Stay still. Don't struggle."

But Dean did struggle; he was terrified that the other man would come back. He smelt like his Dad did when he was angry…and that had always led to a beating.

Dean shuddered and sat up, partly out of spite and partly so he would feel less vulnerable.

He immediately regretted the action when the room spun and his head throbbed in protest at the movement. Whimpering, he covered his eyes, the biscuits, bacon and pancakes in his stomach churning.

He hated this.

He hated feeling so vulnerable all the time.

It terrified him.

Dean found himself wishing for Mum again, there was nothing he wanted more at that moment in time than a hug from his mother.

Tears filled Dean's eyes for the umpteenth time and he curled his fingers together, drawing his knees up his chest and hugging them close to himself.

John watched this and felt his heart break at how vulnerable the boy looked. He inched forward and wrapped his arms around the child, cuddling him close.

Dean briefly thought about wrenching himself out of John's grip, but John was too strong and it would have been a pointless, token act of defiance anyway.

Realizing this, Dean relaxed into the hold and nestled his head into John's arms. He snuggled as close as possible and breathed in the scent of John's aftershave, allowing himself to go limp when John rubbed the tension from his back.

After a while, he fell asleep in John's arms, with both the hunter and Sammy watching over him.

…

The next morning when Dean woke, he found himself wrapped up tight in blankets with a toy stuffed dog tucked under his arm. John was sitting on a chair next to his bed, watching him with a concerned expression that immediately disappeared as soon as he realized that Dean had woken up.

"Hey Dean, feeling better?" Dean nodded, sitting up and wiping the sleep from his eyes with one hand and using his free hand to absentmindedly stroke the toy dog.

"Oh yeah, that's Sam's favorite toy, he didn't want you to be lonely last night when I made him go to bed, so he left Spot with you. "

Dean beamed at the gesture and gave the toy a tight cuddle before shuffling out of bed to go and see Sam.

And then he froze, remembering Bobby.

John saw this, so went up to Dean and sat him back down on the bed.

"Ok, Dean. I really need you to listen up for me. Bobby is my friend; he's doing me a real favor letting us stay here. Now, until we get you back home, you'll have to stay here with all of us, so you need to get used to him. Ok?"

Dean's blank, fearful look disappeared and suddenly his brows furrowed and he clenched his fists, beginning to grind his jaws. John could see a few beads of sweat on Dean's forehead.

"Dean?"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! I HATE YOU! YOU'RE JUST LIKE HIM! YOU DON'T LOVE ME EITHER, YOU JUST PRETENDED. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU SO MUCH!" Dean yelled at the top of his voice and began to pace furiously, rubbing his head as he did so.

"YOU DON'T WANT ME EIHER. YOU JUST WANT TO GET RID OF ME TOO…YOU CAN'T SEND ME BACK THERE! I WONT LET YOU! I'LL RUN AWAY AGAIN!...I'm not going back… I'm not. I'll run away again…I won' go back…I swear I'll run!" Dean added the last bit of his tirade quietly, angry tears beginning to flow down his face as his voice broke and trailed off to little more than a whisper.

Before John could process everything and get over the shock of Dean speaking…well, yelling so much, Dean had already run out of the bedroom, past John and into the bathroom.

He slammed the door shut and locked it, the shower staring up a few seconds later.

John realized that he had made a mistake saying that he had to take Dean home.

Everything seemed to slot into place.

John had known Dean was abused by the jittery, nervous behavior and the scars, but he had thought – no, hoped, that Dean had been abused while living alone in the forest, or when he was first on the streets on his own.

But now he suspected otherwise. It all made sense.

Dean had been abused at home.

By someone who had gotten drunk all the time, ending up smelling like Bobby's beer.

His abuser had hit Dean with a belt, beaten him to within an inch of his life and forced him to run away.

And if John had to hazard a guess, he would say that Dean's dad had been the culprit.

And if his father had beaten Dean…where was his mother?

Probably dead…a voice added in his head, and although John didn't want it to be true, part of him knew that Dean was alone in the world. Call it hunter's instinct.

And, Dean had clearly run away from his father…but how much abuse had it taken him to crack? What finally pushed Dean over the edge and caused him to flee?

John dragged himself downstairs and sank down onto a chair by the kitchen table, resting his head on his hands…which was how Bobby found him moments later.

"John? What's wrong?"

"Ugh, I really fucked up Bobby. I don't know what to do. I said that Dean had to make an effort to accept you while he's here, before we took him home, but the kid freaked out. He started yelling about how he wouldn't go back and that I didn't want or love him either. God, I think he was abused by his father, and I went and said that I was going to take him back there. No wonder the boy doesn't think I love him, in his eyes, I'm just another piece in a freakin puzzle of betrayal…What am I going to do?"

"Well, first you're gonna stop pulling your hair out or you'll have none left. Then, you're gonna go up there and tell the kid that he doesn't have to go back to his father. We'll have to sort something else out…put him up for adoption or something."

"I can't just let him be swallowed up by the system. Dean isn't a goddamned statistic, he's a real kid and he needs love and care from a real family."

"Well, I think ya just answered your own question about what you're gonna do."

"What?"

"You're gonna take him in, permanently."

"What?"

"Is that the only word in your vocabulary? Look, it's clear you love the boy, and that he trusts you to an extent. You saved him from the forest and you've already begun to nurse him back to health. Sam's always wanted a brother and a friend to play with; you have a massive hole in your life after Mary. It all makes sense, even if you can't see it. Dean needs a real family, and I can't think of any better than you and Sammy."

"What?"

"John!" Bobby's voice took on a warning tone.

"But, I can't. I mean, we're not a functional family. Dean needs a loving mother, and father."

"You can do that."

"I'm a hunter!"

"Yeah, the only hunter I've ever seen this close to having an apple-pie life. You've been happier in the past day looking after Dean than I've ever seen you. Ditch hunting, you don't need that life. I know you want to find what killed Mary, but try to see sense! Even if it ain't legal, you've already adopted the boy…and by the looks of things, he has adopted you to."

"What?"

Bobby rolled his eyes and motioned to the door behind John, where a freshly dressed Dean was standing in Sam's baggy clothes, looking wide eyed, frightened and hopeful all at the same time. All traces of anger had been replaced with anticipation.

"Dean, uh, did you hear all that?"

Dean nodded.

"Um, so what do you say? Do you wanna stay here with me, Sammy and Bobby?"

Dean burst into a glorious smile, teeth glistening as he beamed and bowled over to John.

He practically knocked John over, hugging him so tight that the hunter could barely breathe.

"I'll take that as a yes then. Looks like you're Dean Winchester now." John ruffled Dean's hair affectionately, kissing his forehead softly as he lifted the boy up and cradled him close.

Dean continued to hug his new father, fisting his hair and refusing to let go until Sam walked into the room and asked what was going on.

"Sammy, Dean's going to stay with us now."

"Forever?"

"Forever."

"AWESOME! Hey, you're my brother now…that's so cool. I've always wanted a brother…but you can still be my best friend, don't worry about that! We can play together all the time now! And we can go to school and hang out – nobody at school really likes me, but that won't matter if I can spend my time with you!" Sam beamed, hugging Dean before dragging the older boy to the toaster and demonstrating his new found toast-making skills.

John didn't know what to do with himself, he was grinning like a loon and only snapped out of his fuzzy haze when Bobby clapped him on the back.

"Don't go all chick-flick on me now, idjit."

John nodded, suddenly dazed by the practicalities of all this. Dean would have to go to school at some point. And he needed a new identity, birth certificates, a passport. The whole nine yards.

But first thing first, he needed some clothes. John remembered Dean's love of rock music- he always hummed along when John played it – and he knew what to buy.

Band t-shirts…and lots of them. Dean deserved that, he deserved someone to love and care for him.

And of course, he needed some pants that didn't need to be turned up three times and held up with a modified belt.

"Hey boy's, I'm gonna head to town and pick up some stuff. Be good for Uncle Bobby."

Sam mumbled a yeah Dad, mouth full of toast and Dean nodded, looking warily at Bobby.

"Remember what I said."

Dean nodded again and took a mouthful of overdone toast, just to please Sammy.

…

"Sam, can ya pass me the 3/8 ratchet driver." Sam didn't look up from where he was sitting on the grass reading his book, grappling absently in the toolbox until he picked out a metal instrument and held it out in Bobby's general direction.

The older man took the tool, having to lean to his left to reach it.

"No, that's a screwdriver Sam. I said the ratchet driver…SAM, get yer nose outta that book and give yer old uncle a hand!" Sam grunted and tossed a wrench over.

"Idjit!"

Bobby was just about to pull himself out from under the truck's bonnet when the ratchet driver was placed in his hand.

"Finally, haven' I taught you anything S-…Oh, Dean, thanks." Bobby blinked in surprise when he saw that it wasn't Sam who had passed him the right tool, but Dean, who had previously been absentmindedly bouncing a tennis ball against the floor.

Dean nodded, lips pursed tight as he watched Bobby continued working.

"Any chance of passing the pliers?"

Dean nodded and passed over the pliers from the tool box immediately, hovering as far away from Bobby as possible but ensuring that the hunter could reach the tools in question.

This carried on for a while, until eventually Bobby summoned up some courage, "Hey, kid, do you wanna have a go at fixing her?"

Dean's eyes widened and after a moment of hesitation, he nodded and walked over to the bonnet of the car, where he hovered uncertainly.

"Here, d'ya wanna turn that for me…nice…and do you know what that part does?" Dean nodded. "You do, awesome…"

Soon Dean and Bobby had the car up and running and the boy had finally seemed to fully relax. He seemed to be in his element and soon Dean had the next truck up and running with very few prompts from Bobby. He was either a natural, or had done this before in his past life.

"Thanks kid, that woulda taken me ages without yer help."

"T-that's…ok." Bobby smiled at the progress and wiped some oil from his face, packing away his tools before nudging Sam affectionately.

"Come on bookworm, help me with lunch…"

…

When John returned home, it was to find Bobby, Dean and Sam curled up on the sofa watching the baseball, all three of them leaning forewords, so engrossed in the game that they hadn't noticed his arrival.

"Hey boys, you all good?"

Bobby looked up for a moment and grunted before turning his attention back to the screen.

"Well, it looks like you lot aren't interested in eating lunch with me…looks like I've got three burgers and a ceasar salad all to myself."

At the mention of food, the boys looked up properly, Sam leaping to his feet and rummaging through John's bag before pulling out his salad.

Dean and Bobby soon followed, Dean grabbing his burger and fries with Bobby trailing behind and giving John the thumbs up before following suit.

John grinned, it looked as if Dean had gone through another major breakthrough…he had accepted Bobby into his new life as well.

…

The next week passed relatively smoothly, with Dean now dressed in his new band T-shirts and spending every waking hour playing with his younger brother.

They read together.

They played ball together.

They played tag together.

They were inseparable.

Dean was beginning to speak a lot more now and although he was still a little uncomfortable with Bobby, and Bobby was uncomfortable with his now tee-total lifestyle, they were getting along a lot better and spent two hours a day working on cars together.

Their lives were rather peaceful…

"DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAN! That's not fair!"

"Is so squirt!"

"I'm not a squirt, I'm taller than you!"

"Not for long, sasquatch. Besides, I'm oldest, so I get the last slice of pie."

"But you already had third helpings!"

"Yeah, well you should have eaten quicker so I didn't get to the pie before you!"

"Jerk!"

"Girl!"

"Am not!"

"Are to! Your hair's all floppy…you have a fringe!"

John snorted in laughter at the two boys, who were both now wrestling with the box of pie between them.

"Well, I haven't had any pie yet, so I reckon the last slice is mine."

Both boys looked up at him, eyes blazing comically before handing over the pie and settling down to play snap…which of course led to an argument about who managed to put their card down faster.

Bobby interjected and called it a draw.

Although a normal parent would tell the boys off for fighting, John cherished it. It was nice to see Dean interacting with Sam like a normal child would.

…

John headed out a while later, he'd gotten wind of a rugaru nearby and decided to go and take care of it.

He knew that he should give up the life like Bobby said, now that he had to look after Dean too…but people were dying.

Just this once…this would be his last hunt.

Of course, Sam and Dean thought he was going to hunt some wild rabbits, but Bobby knew the truth and they arranged that John would be back by seven, or Bobby would join him as backup.

With John gone, the boys decided to read together on the sofa, curled against each other - Dean was still clingy, but that was to be expected.

The boys were sitting, Sam nose deep in a book and Dean glancing at pictures in a car magazine, when the doorbell rang.

Dean jumped out of his skin at the noise, never having heard it before and looked around wildly, flinging himself in front of his younger brother to protect him.

"Hey, Dean, chill. It's just the door."

But Dean didn't chill; he was wide eyed and looked as if he was ready to run. In the past, the doorbell ringing had always meant bad news. It was either his dad coming home, or one of his father's friends coming to release pent up anger…on his back.

"Dean, you're ok. I'll get it." Bobby's gruff voice reassured Dean a little, but he was still trembling as he watched the hunter stroll up the hallway and open the door.

"Hey Bobby! How are you?" A woman's voice echoed down the hall and Dean looked up fearfully. He didn't want anyone else to come here. What if the woman hurt Bobby, or Sam? And what if she took him away and made him go back to his father's house?

Tears prickled in his eyes at the thought and Dean backed into the corner of the room, trembling and beginning to hyperventilate. The woman sounded official – like a policewoman on TV or someone from the child protection services and despite her kind tone, Dean couldn't shake his irrational fear.

He couldn't be sent back to his old dad…he couldn't.

He liked it here.

"Bobby! BOBBY!" Sam called for his uncle to come and help.

"Yeah?" Sam ran over to him, giving Jody Mills a quick smile and hug before turning his attention back to Bobby.

"Dean's gone all funny again. He's not breathing well and he's shaking."

Bobby cursed under his breath and hurried into the lounge, making his way to the corner of the room where Dean was in the midst of a fully fledged panic attack.

"Hey, calm down kiddo. It's just a friend of mine, her name's Jody. She's real nice, she aint gonna hurt ya. Relax, remember what yer dad told ya, breathe in, breathe out, in, out. That's good. C'mon, keep it going. In and out. You're doing real good kiddo."

Dean struggled to follow Bobby's orders, tears streaming down his face as he gasped for air. He hated strangers. In fact, he didn't like people full stop, apart from John, Sammy and perhaps Bobby.

He felt sick and suddenly his legs were giving way beneath him.

Bobby caught Dean just in time, scooping him up and hugging him close.

"You're alright. C'mon, stay with me Dean."

After rubbing his back for a good few minutes, Dean finally calmed down and sniffed miserably, still shaking.

"Uh, Bobby, should I leave? Is this a bad time?" Jody piped up, looking utterly confused and worried in the doorway.

"No, don't worry. He's alright, aren't you buddy?" Dean nodded stiffly and allowed himself to be lowered to the ground, where he hid behind Bobby's leg.

"Don't worry sweetie, I'm Jody. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

Dean nodded again and watched as Jody lowered herself to his level and smiled at him gently.

"H-hello."

"Hey, look, I'll tell you what; I made some apple strudel and bought it over, how about a slice?"

Dean gave a small nod at this, continuing to clutch Bobby, who extricated himself carefully from Dean's grasp and followed Jody to the kitchen, leaving Sam to finish calming Dean down.

"Bobby, what was all that about? You don't have some lady friend hauled up somewhere that I don't know about…do you?"

"What? No…he aint mine. He's John's kid."

"John only has one child, Sam, doesn't he?"

"Uh, he adopted Dean recently."

"I take it that this wasn't a legal adoption."

"What? Of course…"

"Don't lie to me Singer…I'm not going to turn you in, I'm off duty, but I do want to know what's going on!"

"Look, John found Dean in the forest a week and a bit ago, he was in a pretty bad state with pneumonia and he was barely talking. Looks like he was badly abused by his father so ran away and ended up here. John's taken him in now, but he still aint good with strangers, hence the breakdown…"

"Jesus Bobby, you boy's don't do anything by halves, do you?"

"Nah…that would make life too easy."

Jody snorted and doled out the strudel on some plates, heading into the lounge where a pale faced Dean was sniffing softly and hugging Sam close.

"Here you go boys, enjoy." Dean took his slice and ate it silently; nodding his thanks once he had finished before carrying his and Sam's plates to the kitchen.

When he returned, he literally bumped into Jody in the doorway, freezing with fright.

"Hey, relax. It's alright." Jody knelt down and gave Dean a soft hug, enveloping him in her arms as the boy stood rigidly and seemed to freeze into place.

When he realized Jody wasn't going to hurt him, Dean relaxed into the hug and buried his head in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

She smelt like his mother used to.

"You smell nice, Jody. Like Mommy did."

Jody smiled at this and brushed a hand through Dean's hair, kissing him on the forehead before straightening up.

"Well, I bet she'd be really proud of you now, and happy that you found a new family."

Dean nodded at this and gave another tight lipped smile before heading outside with Sam to help him practice his batting and bowling.

"He's a good kid." Jody stated when the boy's headed out.

"Yeah, he sure is."

"Look, I'll see you around some time. Take good care of the boys."

"Y'can count on it."

Bobby showed Jody to the door and gave her a gruff hug before shutting the door and going outside to watch over the boys.

Sam was definitely improving, although his aim left a little to be desired…he had just hit Dean in the head with the ball and now both boys were doubled up laughing.

It was refreshing to hear Dean laugh.

They spent the rest of the day like this, until Sam knocked the ball over the fence and John came home – thankfully on time – and announced that he was knackered and couldn't be bothered to cook.

"Well, there's a diner down the road."

"Sounds good, but no more burgers boys. You're not having a burger for lunch and dinner, ok?"

"What about pizza?"

"Yeah, Sam, you can have pizza."

"Awesome!"

Dean didn't look quite as thrilled as Sam did at the prospect of going out for dinner.

…

By the time they pulled up outside the diner in John's Impala, John was beginning to realize that he may have made a mistake. Dean was glancing around frantically, palms sweaty with nerves.

"It's ok Dean, we're gonna go in, order our food, eat dinner and then we can go, ok? No-one is going to hurt you; we're going to enjoy our first ever family outing, yeah?"

"Ok…Dad." Dean rolled the word over his tongue like a praline chocolate, smiling as if sweetness was melting in his mouth.

"C'mon then son." John said gruffly…and of course his rough voice had nothing to do with the tears welling up in his eyes.

It looked as if the hole in his life had been filled. They truly were a family now.

When they walked in, John took Dean's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze before catching the eye of a pretty waitress, who led them to a table in the corner. She had clearly sensed Dean's wariness and thought it would be best if she put him in a quieter area.

"Howdy folks, what can I get ya to drink?" She asked cheerily, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet with pent up energy.

"Apple juice please!" Sam said, giving the waitress an award winning smile.

"Apple juice it is, sweetie. Now what can I get for you two?" She asked, nodding towards Bobby and John.

"Two cokes please." John added quickly, noticing Bobby staring wistfully at the beer and wine menu.

"Alrighty…and for you sweetheart?" She asked, finally looking at Dean, who shrunk back in his seat and looked around like a startled rabbit. You'd have thought she had asked him a complicated algebra question or something.

After a few moments of silence, the waitress gave Dean a warm smile.

"Don't worry, I don't bite."

Dean shuffled to his left so he was pressed up tighter to John and looked imploringly at him.

"Go on Dean, there's juice, Sprite, Fanta, Tango, Mountain Dew…Doctor Pepper." John felt bad about making Dean answer when he was so on edge, but he had to learn sometime.

"Sprite please." Dean whispered his order so quietly that the waitress barely heard him, but she smiled none the less and didn't comment. With a flourish of her short skirt, she turned and went to fetch their drinks, giving them time to choose what they wanted to eat.

"Well done Dean, you did good, see? I told you you'd be alright." John said proudly, hugging his new son close and ruffling his hair.

"Thanks." Dean said, a little louder now…he was practically glowing from the compliment.

The waitress came with their drinks a few minutes later and everyone placed their orders… Sam a vegetarian pizza, Bobby the beef stew, John fish and chips and Dean a Hawaiian pizza…to which Sam called him a girl.

"Pineapple! On a pizza! You say I'm a girl with my hair. Who puts fruit on a pizza?"

"Hawaiian people do!" Dean argued back, smirking.

"Bet they don't."

"Well why's it called a Hawaiian then?"

"Because the name derives from…"

"Alright, geekboy."

"Am not!"

"Are too!" Sam huffed and kicked Dean under the table gently, which of course led to a full on foot fight, which Bobby and John definitely did not get involved in – honest!

Besides, it was nice to see a snarky side of Dean…anything was better than him constantly crying and shaking.

"Here's your dinner boys, I hope you're hungry!" The waitress swanned up to them again, setting out the plates of food and beaming the whole time.

Everyone tucked in, Dean grinning around a mouthful of pineapply-goodness.

"Good?"

"Yeah!"

The Winchesters and Bobby continued chatting – well, arguing – over Spiderman and Batman until eventually Bobby excused himself to go to the bathroom and John went to pay.

And that was the moment when a clown came over with some balloon animals to hand out to the children.

"Hello boys, do you want a balloon animal? Or how about matching swords?"

Sam visibly paled and began to shake, looking as if he was about to throw up his pizza.

It took Dean a while to realize what was going on.

"Sam?"

"I-" Sam tried to talk but his eyes were fixed upon the bright red, leering mouth and crazy rainbow coloured wig before him. He began to shake more violently and slid further down his seat.

"Hey! You! Go away! You're scaring my brother."

The clown didn't move, watching bemused as the long-haired boy began to cry.

"NOW!" Dean jumped up and shoved the clown away from their table, causing a rise of onlookers to draw sharp intakes of breath as the man stumbled backwards and hit the corner of another table.

"Sorry kid, I'm going! I'm going." The clown backed away quickly, raising his hands to show he meant no harm before moving onto another table.

As soon as he was out of sight, Dean snuggled next to his new younger brother and cuddled him close, letting Sam curl into him and whispering soft reassurances.

"He won't hurt you. I won't let him. I promise. I'll look after you."

Sam nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes, but not moving from Dean's grip.

He was still trembling softly by the time John and Bobby came back to the table, demanding to know what happened.

"There was a clown. But its ok, Dean saved me. He made him go away. He's my hero!"

John chuckled at this and smiled at Dean gratefully – he was glad that he had tipped the waitress well; she now had to deal with Sam's incident as well as Dean's.

Maybe it hadn't been a perfect family outing, but for now, it would do.

…

Bobby, Sam, Dean and John were spending yet another family lunchtime together, this time playing charades once they had finished their sandwiches.

Sam was lifting his arms around like a gorilla, puffing out his chest and swaggering around, causing Dean to fall into hysterics.

The youngest Winchester was obviously acting out King Kong, but the others refused to guess right – they were enjoying watching Sam become more and more desperate in his movements.

Dean's laughter echoed around the room and everyone else couldn't help but join in…his sparkling green eyes had a mischievous glint when he was happy and no-one could help but smile when in Dean's presence.

He was a whole new person, constantly smiling, joking and making sarcastic comments – almost to the point of cockiness.

And John loved him for it.

Dean had bought a new lease of life into the Winchester's existence and he had never seen Sam so relaxed and happy. Usually the kid stuck to himself doing homework and extra reading, but now he spent every waking hour trying to please and be more like Dean – his new role model.

After another few rounds of charades, Bobby said he had to go out and get some car parts and asked Sam and Dean if they wanted to come along.

They agreed happily, smiling as John nodded his approval.

The ex-hunter knew Bobby wasn't going out for car parts, but to let Sam and Dean get a Father's day present for the next day, but he pretended to be ignorant.

"Have fun boys. Behave – all of you – yes Bobby, I'm talking to you."

The three nodded, bundling into one of Bobby's trucks to discuss what to buy.

…

Sam beamed when he found a book that he knew his dad wanted to read, but Dean was becoming more and more nervous. He didn't like the shopping mall, there were too many people and far too much noise, but Bobby held his hand and kept muttering gruff assurances.

He was also worrying about how he hadn't found anything for John. He wanted their first Father's day together to be perfect.

"How about something hand-made?" Bobby asked, nudging Dean towards a craft store.

"I'm no good at that. I haven't done art since…" Dean trailed off, looking down as if his shoes had suddenly become incredibly interesting.

"I'm sure you're brilliant at it, and besides, it's the thought that counts."

Dean nodded glumly, entering the store and looking around at the bright displays.

He flinched when people bustled into him, but after a while something caught his eye. It was a plain white mug, but next to it were pens to decorate it with.

"You want to get that?" Bobby saw what Dean was looking up and grinned. Although John swore against chick-flick moments, he knew it was all a façade. The man was as soft as a brush and would definitely go all gooey if Dean gave him a handmade gift.

"Yes please." Dean pulled a mug down and inspected it before handing it to Bobby, along with a pack of the pens.

"Ok, let's go and pay."

"Thanks Bobby."

"No problem kiddo."

…

Dean was sat cross legged on his bed, which had been moved into Sam's room.

Instead of sharing with John, he now shared with his new brother – even though they chatted half the night, John didn't have the heart to undo the move.

But at that moment in time, there were more important things for him to worry about.

He was pouring over the mug he had bought, deciding what to draw on it and his mind had gone blank.

Completely, and Sam was already asleep so he couldn't even ask for advice.

In the end, he decided on an image of the Impala.

It was a symbol of hope for Dean, the car had taken him away from his old life in the forest and it is clear that John loved it to bits. It was perfect. If only Dean could draw it right…

The initial pencil sketch took Dean thirty minutes, but eventually he was satisfied and began to colour in the design with the black pen.

Then, he coloured in the personalized license plate that he had drawn out.

'NO.1 DAD'

He looked down at his work proudly, the car wasn't perfect – the wing mirrors looked a bit funny, but he was pleased with the overall effect.

For a finishing touch, he wrote '’To the Best Dad Ever!' above the image before packaging it back up in the tissue paper wrappings.

He then slid the mug under his bed before sinking beneath the covers and waiting in anticipation of the next day.

Dean hoped it was going to be the best Father's day ever.

…

Dean woke up early the next morning, his entire body tingling with excitement.

No one else in the house was awake, so he trundled downstairs and made John some toast before entering his new dad's room.

"Dad! Wake up! Happy Father's day!" Dean beamed, shaking John until the man sat up and accepted the toast.

"Morning Dean, what's all this in aid of?"

"It's Father's day! So I made you breakfast! Oh, and I got you a present!" Dean dived from the room to retrieve the mug before jumping onto John's bed excitedly.

"Open it! Go on! Open it!"

John beamed, he'd never seen Dean so animated before and it made his chest feel warm and fuzzy.

When he looked down at the mug, tears began to fall down his face.

"What? Don't you like it?" Dean's eyes widened and also filled with tears, his lips forming the now famous Dean-pout.

"No, Dean, I love it. It's perfect! Did you make it especially for me?"

"Yeah!" Dean looked relieved, beaming from ear to ear as he pointed out the number plate and how awesome 'Baby' looked.

"Thank you Dean, it's beautiful. This is my favorite mug in the world." Dean smiled at this before snuggling next to John and kissing him on the cheek.

"I love you Daddy, you're the best."

"I love you too, son."

…

John, Bobby, Sam and Dean spent the day in a bliss filled haze of happiness.

They watched Captain America on DVD eating popcorn, had a lunch consisting of chocolates and cake and went back to the diner for dinner.

This time round, everything went perfectly. Dean managed to stay calm, ordering all of his food including dessert – a huge slice of pie. And, to make things better, there were no clowns this time round, so Sam was calm too.

Then, when they came back home, John began to read the book Sam had bought him, with both of his boys sleeping with their heads resting on his lap.

He was in heaven, and this had been the best Father's day ever.

…

A few hours later, John stood and carried both his boys to bed, Sam drooling on his shoulder and Dean murmuring softly when he was scooped up and laid down again. He tucked both boys into their twin beds and kissed them both on the forehead before switching off the nightlight and leaving them to sleep.

He tried to remember a time that he had felt happier.

He couldn't think of one since Mary had died.

…

Dean was jolted awake at the feeling of someone shaking him and he blinked wearily, freezing when the smell of beer hit his nostrils.

He tried to scream, but his mouth was suddenly dry and he couldn't make a sound.

When he tried to run, he realized that a set of strong hands were pinning him down by the waist, rendering him incapable of movement.

What was happening?

"What's wrong kiddo? Why the long face? Didn't you buy yer real daddy a card and chocolates? Why, Dean, I'm disappointed in you. I'll have to punish you later for this."

Dean blanched, nausea rolling through his body at the prospect.

How could his dad be here?

He'd run away, escaped!

How did he find him here?

"Now kiddo, let's get you home where you belong."

"N-no. P-please. I l-like it here, l-leave me alone!"

"Leave me alone!" The older man mocked Dean in a cold, high voice and began to cackle at his own wit.

The noise startled Sammy from his slumber and with a moan; he sat up and looked over at Dean.

"De? Wht's going on? M'tired?" Sam grumbled, switching on his nightlight.

He jumped when Dean's father became visible.

"Who are you? De? What's happening? Who is he? What?"

"Be quiet you little brat!"

Sam opened his mouth to scream, but Dean's father had foreseen this move and with one swift movement he pressed a vial to Sam's lips and poured something into his throat.

Sam gagged and bucked, but a moment later he slumped down boneless. He wasn't unconscious, but he was too drowsy to move. His limbs felt heavy and even when he saw the stranger take hold of Dean, shove the vial into his mouth and punch him hard in the face, Sam couldn't do anything to help.

He couldn't even scream out.

He felt paralyzed.

The last thing Sam heard before he fell asleep was the stranger whispering menacingly in Dean's ear and a cracking noise as Dean was thrown to the floor and kicked in the ribs.

Dean whimpered when three of his ribs snapped clean in two.

…

When Sam and Dean woke, they were no longer in their shared bedroom. They were in what looked like a living room, but there was no furniture other than a sofa and two sets of chains hanging from the wall with attached handcuffs.

They were both lying on the floor, their bodies aching and their vision blurry.

"Sammy?"

"M'fine. You ok, De?" Sam waited apprehensively for an answer, "Dean?"

Dean's reply never came; he was completely white, clutching his ribs and gasping frantically as he caught sight of his father in the corner of the room. The man was holding his favorite ten inch blade, twirling it between his fingers threateningly.

"Looks like you've woken up, how are you doing? Oh wait, I should introduce myself. I'm Sean, Dean's real daddy." He snarled, stepping closer.

Sam looked up at the man…so this was the guy who'd hurt his brother…

Dean flinched back terrified and moved between his father and Sam.

Despite all of the fear, he knew he had to protect his little brother. He wouldn't let Sammy get hurt too; this was his mess, not his Sam's.

"Now, what am I going to do with you two?"

Dean cowered when his father stepped forward and grabbed him by his ear. Even though he tried to struggle, his limbs still weren't cooperating.

"LET GO OF HIM!" Sam yelled, watching his brother hanging limp and defeated.

"Shut up you piece of shit, I haven't decided what to do with you yet, so don't push me and I may treat you nicely."

"Let him go!"

Dean's father growled low in his throat and dropped his son on the ground, advancing on Sam.

Sean raised his knife and was about to do away with the child – it wasn't Sam he wanted, so he may as well get rid of him – when Dean suddenly regained the ability to move.

A mixture of fury and adrenaline coursed through him and he threw himself in front of Sam again, the blade digging into his shoulder, all the way to the hilt.

Dean screamed as the whole ten inches of metal pierced his skin and came out the other side, blood immediately pouring from the wound.

He dropped to the ground like a stone and began to dry heave, sobbing in fright and pain.

At the same time though, he gave a small smile.

If he hadn't of gotten in the way, the blade would have pierced Sam's heart and killed him.

The pain was worth it.

"DEAN!" Sam wailed frantically, crawling to his brother's side and sobbing at the sight before him.

There was blood, so much blood.

"M'mm. M'fine, s'fine Sammy." Dean gasped, his hand scrabbling at his shoulder in an attempt to stem the flow.

"Oh how cute." Dean's father smirked, grabbing Sam's long hair and pulling him away from his son, who had crumpled to the floor in a heap.

"You really are a little nuisance, aren't you? Maybe Dean's right for once, it would be a shame to kill you so soon, I guess I'll keep you for a while, for the amusement factor. It's a good job I prepared these earlier." He smirked, nodding towards the chains on the ceiling. He hadn't been planning on kidnapping the other boy, it had just kind of happened. Luckily, it just so happened that a friend of his had a couple of girls hauled up here before, so he had a spare set of chains set up. One for Dean, one for the other runt.

In one swift movement, he hauled Sam up and cuffed him in the chains, suspending him in the air.

"LET ME DOWN!" Sam screamed, struggling frantically, much to the man's amusement.

"Shut up." He pulled a cloth from his pocket and tied it around Sam's mouth, rendering him incapable of making a sound. Then, with a smirk he headed back over to his son, who was crying and attempting to get back to Sam's side.

"Now Dean, what have I told you about struggling? Have you learnt nothing boy?" The man leant down and gripped the handle of the knife in Dean's shoulder, twisting the blade and yanking it out harshly.

Dean didn't even have time to scream before he passed out and was suspended from the ceiling next to his squirming brother.

With a smirk, Sean sat back on the sofa and admired his handiwork.

This was going to be fun.

…

When John woke the next morning, he met Bobby in the kitchen and they ate a late breakfast together.

"Are the boys up yet?" Bobby asked, rubbing his receding hairline before pulling on his cap.

"Nah, it looks like we wore them out yesterday! Too much junk food…I swear I'm gonna force feed Dean lettuce today! But it was worth it…" John smiled, remembering Sam and Dean's gifts…he'd make himself a coffee in Dean's mug a bit later.

"I'll go get them." Bobby stood and went upstairs, yelling down at John when he entered the boy's bedroom.

Their beds were empty other than a post-it note.

'I have taken what is rightfully mine. S.'

Next to the note was John's new mug from Dean, smashed into about twenty pieces.

"JOHN!"

John came pounding up the stairs, blanching when he saw the note. He sank onto the bed and began to cry, Bobby shushing him and patting him on the back awkwardly.

"We'll find them. It's fine, we'll find them. Don't worry, it's our job. Saving people…hunting things…John, I need you to stay calm. JOHN! Calm down and think god dammit!"

"It must have been Dean's dad…oh god, what if he hurts them?"

"Then we'll make sure he regrets the day he was born."

John nodded shakily and watched as Bobby checked over his CCTV cameras…and then the road cameras. Luckily Bobby's skills in computer hacking hadn't failed him this time.

But John was rendered incapable of helping - he couldn't stop pacing back and forth…whenever he stopped he felt like he'd collapse or faint…he had to keep moving.

He had to act, to hunt Dean's dad down and kill him.

Despair washed over John like a tidal wave.

Eventually, after lots of utterances of 'BALLS,' Bobby was able to view a grainy image of a tall man hauling two bodies into a truck, and managed to track the truck along the roads with disjointed images.

"I've got him!" It was almost too easy, did that idjit really think Bobby had no security – admittedly the locks and alarm had been disabled…but the cameras…Bobby inwardly gloated.

Anyone who had called him a paranoid fool could eat their words!

"He came off somewhere along here, that's when the cameras stop as it's a side road, but there's only a couple of off-shoot roads in that area, we've as good as got him." Bobby indicated on a map.

John grabbed his gun and stalked out of the front door, Bobby close behind.

…

The hunters drove at breakneck speed, storming two abandoned buildings before coming across a well-lit house. The outside had a freshly mowed lawn and there were flower pots full of carnations.

It didn't seem like a likely place to hold children hostage…but looks could be misleading.

John ran down the front lawn and kicked the front door down, sprinting to the only door that was locked.

Consequence be damned…he was sure this was the place.

Call it instinct.

…

John and Bobby burst through the door, kicking it so hard that it was sent crashing to the ground. And then they stopped dead in their tracks. Sam and Dean were tied up, suspended from the ceiling, both gagged and quivering with fear. Dean's shirt had been ripped away, and he was covered in blood. His back looked like something from a butcher's shop and there was a deep wound on his shoulder which was oozing copious amounts of congealed blood.

Luckily, Sam looked relatively intact – but equally terrified.

A man was standing beside them, a leather belt in his hand.

"HEY!"

"Oh, hello. You must be this little runt's Daddy. I don't believe we've met. I'm Sean, by the way. Sorry for all this inconvenience, but I have been waiting far too long for the return of my son. Y'know, it's been hard without him. Empty nest syndrome and all that." He cackled softly to himself and brought his belt down on Dean's exposed chest, right over his broken ribs.

The boy bucked and screamed behind his gag.

"STOP HURTING HIM!" Bobby thundered, taking a few steps forward.

John shuddered as Sean finally looked up and grinned, his teeth were grayish and a few were missing.

He could smell the alcohol coming off of him and watched in horror as the belt was bought down again.

"Hey, dickbag, get the hell away from my sons." John raised his gun. He meant business. He wasn't going to stand back and watch anymore.

"Hmmm, I don't think so. You see, the thing is, Dean-o here isn't your son, he's my flesh and blood and I'm quite enjoying his company."

Sean walked forward and rested a large hand on Dean's waist, chuckling when his son whimpered behind his gag and squirmed away from his touch.

Tears were glistening in his eyes and he looked over at John desperately.

"Now, as you can see," Sean pulled out a gun from his waistband and aimed it at Sam, "I've got a gun, and I'm not in a very good mood. Now, I want my son, you want yours. So, I'm going to give you a choice." He paused for a moment, toying with his gun and swirling it between his fingers.

"I will let your gangly kid down, if you leave quietly. I'm a reasonable man. Your son means nothing to me, it's only Dean I want. But, if you don't go down quietly, I will kill Dean, and I will come after you as well, and I will skin your son alive before ending your own miserable life. Got it?"

John growled low in his throat and lunged forward, Bobby mirroring him. But Sean was too quick and a round of gunshots sounded.

Bobby fell to the ground with a thud, instantaneously unconscious from a combination of pain and shock.

Sam screamed into his gag.

Dean was too frozen with fear to make a sound.

"BOBBY!"

"Ah, don't worry Johnny Boy, I have a good aim, I got his shoulder. Admittedly three times, but he'll come round soon enough. See, I told you I was reasonable. I don't want to hurt you or your son. Just make your choice. You can save Sam, or you can kill both of the boys, and yourself. It's your pick."

John cursed, bending down and wrapping Bobby's shoulder in Dean's nightshirt, which he found lying on the floor.

"You son of a bitch. Let them go."

Sean laughed again.

"Now where's the fun in that." Sean said, wandering over to the boys and resting a hand on Sam's hip, trailing it down to his son's groin.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM! Stay away from him you bastard!"

"Oh, but I've been so lonely without Dean. I just want to play."

"YOU!"

Sean moved over to Dean again, roughly pulling off his gag.

"What have you got to say son? Are you worth Sammy's life?"

"N-no Sir. Please d-don't hurt him."

"See John, Dean knows his place."

"Dean! Don't listen to him."

"Pick Sam, save Sam. Just go." Dean croaked, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"No!" John inched closer, trying to comfort Dean.

Sean cocked his gun and held it to Dean's forehead.

"One more move and I shoot right now, and I'm sure you don't want your Sammy to see his big brother's brain splattered across the wall like a Jackson Pollock."

"Just leave them alone."

"You really are rather repetitive, and I'm bored of this conversation. You take Sam now, or I kill all three of you."

Dean looked pleadingly at John. Then something cracked and he began to beg. But not for his own life, or his own safety…

"Pick Sammy, please pick Sammy. Save Sammy. You have to save Sammy. Save him, not me. You h-have…please. Save Sammy. Save Sammy. Save Sammy!"

Dean picked up a litany of 'Save Sammy's' his pitch becoming increasingly high and frantic as he pleaded with John.

"Tick Tock John, I'm getting tired of waiting. Just choose. You know you want to save Sammy. You get your son, I get mine. We're both winners."

"You sick son of a bitch!"

"Tick Tock, John." Sean walked over to Dean, bringing his belt down hard against Dean's back.

Dean bucked wildly, tears filling his eyes again…but he didn't stop his mantra of "save Sammy's."

Sean laughed softly.

"You always were a stubborn brat." Dean screamed when Sean brought the makeshift whip down harder still, gasping as more blood began to cascade down his back.

"STOP HURTING HIM!" John screamed, rushing over to the boys and throwing caution to the wind.

"If you take one step closer I will blast both of these boy's brains with a gun. I just want Dean. I don't care about your son. I am giving you a choice. Giving you a chance to save your son. Tick Tock."

John bit back the tears in his eyes and looked over to Dean, who was still mumbling frantically and then at Sam, who was sobbing in terror, hiccoughing so much that he could barely draw breath, let alone say anything.

"Tick Tock. Tick Tock…Save Sammy…Tick Tock. Tick Took…Save Sammy…"

The voices seemed to blur into one and John let out a cry of frustration before yelling.

"SAM! I-Save Sam. I have to save Sam. Please!"

For a moment a flash of relief flooded across Dean's face when he realized Sam wasn't going to be hurt…and a second later it was replaced by a look of abject terror.

But Dean didn't scream.

He didn't cry.

He didn't whimper.

He didn't beg John to reconsider and save him instead.

He simply seemed to withdraw into himself, his eyes glazing over with a film of terror and his body quivering where it hung.

"Good choice Johnny-Boy." Sean moved behind Sam, pulling a bowie knife from his pocket and cutting the rope. John just had time to fly forward and catch his son before he fell to the floor.

John supported Sam and removed his gag, pulling him close and hugging him.

The ten-year-old broke down in his arms, sobbing and screaming for Dean, kicking against his father and trying desperately to reach his surrogate brother.

But Sean simply laughed at his terror and John didn't let go of him.

"Well, now that we've both got what we want, I suggest you leave. And take your oversized teddy bear with you." Sean beckoned over at Bobby's prone figure with a smirk.

John nodded gruffly, knowing that he would return later and fetch Dean. But for now he really didn't have much choice. He would get Sam out of harms way and then he would save Dean.

He placed Sam on the floor and guided him to the eldest hunter, wrapping his arms under Bobby's armpits and hauling him across the floor with Sam clinging onto his jacket, still crying fearfully.

He turned back just in time to see Sean cutting Dean down.

But John didn't have time to catch Dean as he fell to the floor with a sickening thud. A scream of agony accompanied the snapping noise of Dean's ankle breaking and John blanched. The boy seemed to plummet in slow motion, collapsing to the floor in a heap and curling up on instinct.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO YOUR SON?!"

"Calm down John. It was your choice. You let me do this, now just go home before anyone else gets hurt." Sean accompanied this sentence with a kick to Dean's broken ribs, making John clench his fists in desperation and frustration.

The boy curled up further, moans escaping his throat when Sean knelt down next to him and roughly yanked his foot up for inspection, jarring the broken bone and sending searing spikes of wildfire up Dean's leg.

"Hmmm, looks sore Dean-o. Does it hurt when I do this?" Sean bent Dean's foot back and forth, taking pleasure from the way in which Dean writhed and screamed on the floor. The little boy began to wriggle away and attempted to curl away from his biological father, but it was no use and Sean just repeated the motion, this time going from side to side.

"Hmmm, looks broken." Sean smirked, rotating Dean's broken foot causing Dean to howl in agony.

John cringed at how much he sounded like he used to…Dean had made those noises when he was feral, before John and Sam had taught him how to be human again.

Then again, if anything were to make him to regress, this would definitely do it.

Sean snorted with laughter at the noise and cruelly dropped Dean's foot back to the floor, chuckling deeply when the kid let out an ear piercing cry and passed out.

John dropped Bobby back to the floor and began to run towards the boy, he couldn't leave Dean like this, but Sean pointed his gun straight at John.

"You made your choice John. It was Sam or Dean. Of course, if you wish to change your mind…I could be lenient." Sean shifted his gun so it was facing Sammy and John shrank back.

"N-no. I-I haven't changed my mind. Don't hurt my Sammy. Please." Sean nodded and as soon as John had backed away and scooped Bobby back up, he put the gun back in his pocket.

"I thought that would be your answer. Now, go."

John turned and picked Bobby back up, dragging him the rest of the way out of the room with Sam following, sobbing the whole time.

John sobbed uncontrollably as he realized what he was doing.

He was abandoning the child whom he had vowed to protect.

But Sam…he couldn't of let Sean hurt his innocent little Sammy.

And it made him sick to his stomach, because he had been able to do just that to Dean.

What kind of twisted son of a bitch did that make him?

…

Now that Sam was safe at home with Jody keeping an eye on him, Bobby and John had set off back to where Sean was keeping Dean captive. They had waited the night, so they could come up with an action plan and patch up Bobby's arm, but John refused to get any sleep and they left at 5 in the morning.

Neither hunter could bear waiting any longer.

John couldn't believe that he had left in the first place…but Bobby was bleeding out and Sean had a gun to his son's heads…he couldn't risk playing a game of 'who can shoot fastest.' He had been a few meters away from Sean; Sean had his gun practically pressed to Dean's temple. There was no way John could have shot Sean without one of his boys being killed first…it wasn't worth the risk.

If Dean had been hurt, John could fix him.

It would take love, care and time, but he would put the little boy back together.

If he had taken the risk and Sean had shot Dean…there would be no fixing, just death.

At least this way the boy had a chance at life, and Sam would still have a brother.

But still…it had only been a single night, but John was terrified by the prospect of how much damage may have been done.

All of his work putting Dean back together had probably been eradicated and the boy was probably even more broken than before.

He couldn't stop going over things in his head…how had Dean's father found them? Dean had run away years ago…Dean wasn't on any database.

One explanation was that he had been smart…somehow tracked online movements- people looking for profiles that fitted Dean on records. It was a possibility, maybe the man had seen John had been snooping around and traced back his signal…maybe.

John pushed the though to the back of his mind…for now.

When they reached their destination, John walked into the house calmly, picking the lock of the newly fixed front door and entering the hallway with as much stealth and silence as possible. Bobby had already disabled the alarms…two could play at that game.

He then motioned to Bobby that the hall was clear and saw Sean sprawled out on the couch in the living room.

He was surrounded by three empty bottles of whiskey and had clearly passed out. It looked as if he had had his fun with Dean, and had enjoyed 'a few' drinks in celebration. After all, the guy probably thought John was gone for good now that he had Sam.

In his mind Dean was worthless and not worth coming back for.

John disagreed.

What Sean didn't know, was that there would be no tomorrow in which he could continue abusing his son.

His life was over, and it was all too easy for John to raise the gun.

But before he shot, he took a closer look at Sean's limp form.

The man didn't look smart or clever enough to track John online…he looked like an alcoholic thug...maybe he had seen Dean out an about in the front garden by chance. It was unlikely but…maybe.

John banished the thoughts from his mind.

He didn't care how this man had tracked Dean down.

All he cared about was ending his miserable life and making him pay.

For all John cared, he could rot in hell.

John cocked his gun and flipped off the safety, aiming straight at the man's heart. He was about to pull the trigger when he felt Bobby's good hand on his shoulder.

"Are you sure you want to do this, son? There'll be no goin' back."

"I'm sure."

And with that, John squeezed the trigger.

The bullet didn't travel in slow motion like it did in the movies, and there was no dramatic screaming or victim doubling to the floor, clutching their wound.

Sean did not use his dying words to beg for forgiveness…he remained unconscious the whole time.

John watched coldly as the man bled out in front of him.

He had expected to feel elated, he had killed the man who had bought unimaginable suffering into Dean's life – but he felt nothing. Everything was numb.

He hunted monsters, not people. This was the first human he had ever killed.

And he felt nothing.

"C'mon John, we need to find Dean." Bobby shook John out of his reverie and practically had to manhandle the younger man upstairs, where they saw yet another locked door.

This time, Bobby did the honours, picking the lock rather than kicking it down so as not to terrify Dean.

By the time they got in the room, John had managed to gather himself a bit before kneeling down by the bed – he knew exactly where Dean would be hidden.

"Dean, hey Champ, it's me. C'mon Ace, please, c'mon out of there. You're safe, it's all over now, he can't hurt you anymore, you're safe. C'mon, please Dean, I need you to come out. Sammy needs you."

Dean didn't answer John's pleas, remaining curled in a ball beneath the bed. He was shaking violently, clutching his chest with his good arm and whining low in the back of his throat. His shoulder was sending searing spikes of pain down his entire arm and the blood flow was only just beginning to slow.

The memory of the knife going straight through him made Dean gag a little, but that just made the pain in his chest intensify.

He'd only just been able to crawl into his hiding place, and he had no intention of coming out.

Eventually, John realized that Dean was not coming out of his own accord, so he reached beneath the bed and groped around until he found Dean's skinny frame. It was slick with warm, red liquid.

It had only been a night but Dean felt skinnier and more frail than usual – but that was probably John's imagination.

Dean could feel John's hands on him and he screamed. His whole body felt like it was being pierced with knives when his broken ribs moved inside him and his bruised flesh was stretched.

"Shhh, it's alright." John tried to hush Dean desperately and as gently as he could, he slid the child out from under the bed and into his arms, luckily avoiding his chest. Dean whimpered when his broken ankle touched the ground and he was shaking uncontrollably in John's grip, keening loudly.

Despite the pain, he wriggled and struggled weakly against John's hold.

John wouldn't let him go, shushing Dean as he mewled in terror.

"It's me, DEAN! Look at me, it's me, John. I'm here now."

Dean finally seemed to come to his senses, blinking up at John slowly as a look of relief spread across his features.

"J-"

"Shhh, don't talk Dean, an ambulance is coming. We're gonna say I'm your biological father, ok? As far as you know, the man downstairs is a stranger who randomly kidnapped you, alright?"

Dean nodded softly and eased his head into John's lap, where he fell unconscious.

While waiting for the ambulance, John wrapped up Dean's shoulder and held a sheet to his back in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

…

Jody was bouncing on the balls of her feet in the waiting room of the hospital, only sitting down to flick through a page or two of OK magazine. She'd gotten the call from Bobby to take Sam to the hospital to meet Dean – but she had only just been able to make out the situation over the background noise of sirens and shouting voices.

Now that she had been filled in, she was sick with worry.

Bobby wasn't faring off any better; he was sat with his elbows resting on his knees, absentmindedly fiddling with his hat. He looked haunted.

Sammy was beside himself, sobbing into his father's shoulder as images of Sean stabbing Dean rampaged through his brain. His wrists were still aching from the handcuffs, but that was nothing in comparison to the ache in his heart.

But it was John who was failing to cope completely; he was sat rigid in his chair, absently carding his hands through Sam's hair. His eyes were glazed over and he was shaking softly – no one knew whether this was a result of tension, fear or anger at the situation.

The hunter had shut down after going through 'what had really happened' with the police. He made up some story about Dean being kidnapped on a family outing and a car chase in which he had lost Dean and the stranger. John couldn't remember what he had said about how he had found Dean, but he knew that in the fake account, Sean had a gun to Dean's head and that John had no choice other than to shoot.

When asked about the gun he had used, John said it belonged to Sean and that he had found it on a coffee table.

And as for the alcohol bottles on the scene and any evidence that would disprove their story – Bobby had sorted that out.

The idiots-in-suits believed everything, and left stating that they would be in touch.

John's reverie was interrupted by a nurse walking into the waiting room.

"Hello, are you the Winchester family?"

John sprung to his feet, practically knocking Sam flying.

"Is he-is he ok?!"

"It's ok Sir, your son is in a stable condition. We are confident that with time, he will be alright."

"What's the diagnosis?"

"He has four broken ribs, as well as a fully-penetrating stab wound in his left shoulder, multiple deep lacerations on his back and bruising. All wounds have been stitched and bandaged."

"Ok…that's…good."

"Yes. The most worrying injury in terms of permanent damage is his broken ankle; we had to do corrective surgery and inserted multiple metal plates and screws to place the bones back where they need to be. It will take about twelve weeks for the ankle to heal, although it may take longer to regain full movement of the lower leg and foot. He will have to rest it…no strenuous activities or sports."

John nodded again and sank down against the wall, drawing in a shaky breath and letting out a choked sob.

"If you would like to see him, we can allow one visitor."

John nodded, standing shakily and heading over to the nurse.

But Sam also jumped up.

"I need to see him! Please!"

"Uh, your brother isn't very well sweetie, it may be distressing to view him like that. It's best if we leave this to the grown ups."

"NO! I WANNA SEE DEAN!" Sam thundered, his eyebrows knitting together as he crossed his arms stubbornly.

The nurse sighed and nodded, showing John and Sam the way to Dean's room.

"Just press the call button if you need anything."

"Thanks."

Sam shot forwards as soon as the door was opened, running up to Dean's bed and grabbing his hand. Dean was lying on his right side so as not to jar his ribs, arm or back and he was deathly pale.

"DEAN! Dean! Wake up!" Sam whimpered, tears slipping down his cheeks.

Dean peeled open his eyes and moaned softly, tears filling his eyes at the sight of his brother and John.

"…" He tried to speak but nothing came out and John shushed him tenderly, running a hand through the boy's short, spiky hair.

"You're ok, it’s all over now. He's gone." Tears fell faster down Dean's face and his breathing hitched and became shallow.

Sam, who couldn't bear seeing Dean so upset, cuddled his brother close, wrapping his skinny arms around Dean's frame and snuggling up close. He began to hum Dean's favorite songs by Metallica and Led Zeppelin – Dean constantly sang them, and by the fifth song Dean seemed to relax a little.

He shifted slightly and found himself resting on something soft and fluffy…which turned out to be Sam's toy dog from before.

Dean pulled it out from beneath him and held the toy, burying his face in it and breathing in the familiar scent of his Sammy.

"You can keep Spot; I don't need him any more. Besides, he'll protect you from the monsters."

John watched as Dean curled gratefully around the toy and his brother, both boys spooning as close as they could before falling asleep, wrapped up in the warmth of blankets and each other's body heat.

He couldn't have been prouder of his two boys, Dean for beginning to pull through and Sam for being so loving and understanding. He didn't know where his son had gotten it from, but he was glad they had their own way of communicating.

And as for giving Dean Spot, Sam and that toy had been inseparable for years…if ever there was a sign of love and trust, this was it.

…

When Dean woke again, the first thing he did was burst into tears when he realized Sam was gone from his side. He wouldn't stop crying until John sat on his bed next to him and lifted his head onto his lap. Although the nurses told Dean not to move too much, John figured this was a lot less dangerous than Dean having a panic attack and moving that way.

"Hey, c'mon, it’s just you, me, Sammy and Bobby now. Ok?" John cuddled Dean, who finally seemed to relax.

"I-I-"

"Shhhhh, shhhhhhhhh. It's all ok."

"Sammy?"

"He's on his way, he and Bobby went to the toilet, but they'll be back in a minute."

Right on cue, Bobby and Sam returned. Technically Dean was still only allowed one visitor, but Bobby and Sam had refused to leave and eventually the staff gave in.

"DEAN!" Sam ran over to his brother, throwing his arms around his neck and causing Dean to let out a small screech of pain. He flushed softly and quickly covered up the noise with an overly-cheerful greeting.

"Hey Sammy!"

"Are you ok? Oh god, I thought…I was so scared…I-I didn't want to go to the toilet in case something happened, but I couldn't hold it!"

"S'okay Sammy." Dean whispered, hugging his brother with his good arm before falling asleep again with his head resting on John's lap and Sam laid down against his side.

…

"G'way! Leave me alone! No-NOOOO!" Dean screamed, writhing around frantically in his sleep. He was thrashing around so wildly that he managed to yank a couple of his IVs out and he jostled all of his stitches, but he was too out of it to realize.

"Nooooooooooooooo!" Dean gasped, kicking out with his good leg.

"Dean! Dean, calm down! Dean, wake up, son. Please wake up." John shook Dean gently until the little boy gasped and sat up, shaking all over and sweating.

"J-John…he-he…I-he-"

"Shhhh, it was a dream. Just a dream. It's not real. It was just a nightmare."

John soothed, kissing Dean's forehead gently.

With a sigh, John smelt that Dean had wet the bed again and he lifted his son up, placing him in a guest chair before doing the same with Sam – who had also been sleeping in Dean's bed.

"S-s-sorry. D'didn't mean to. I didn't mean to be bad. I-I'm sorry."

"It's ok Dean, it wasn't your fault. C'mon, let me help you get cleaned up."

Dean remained silent as John carried him to the bathroom and helped him wash his legs and genitals, and then change into a clean pair of pajamas. His ankle twinged a little, but he didn't complain. He simply clung ape-like to John with his arms around the hunter's neck and his legs around his waist.

He watched mortified as the nurses changed his sheets, wiped down the mattress protector, remade the bed and lifted Sam into it. Once they were done, Dean too was lowered into the bed and tucked in, John kissing his nose and handing him Spot before telling him that this wasn't his fault and to go back to sleep.

It was Dean's ninth night at hospital and every night, at least three times, he would wake up terrified. He also wet the bed at least once per night…on his second at the hospital the nurses had needed to change his sheets four times…

On the third night they had softly told John that they might have to insert a catheter or put Dean in adult diapers.

Of course, John had flipped.

There was no way any nurses were sticking something up his boy's penis…he was hurt and terrified enough as it was. Besides, Dean wouldn't let the nurses anywhere near him, let alone down there.

And Dean deserved to have what was left of his dignity left in tact…he was not incontinent, just scared.

In the end, they had compromised with rubber mattress protectors, which were uncomfortable and made weird noises whenever the Winchesters moved…but at least they weren't as intrusive as the other options.

…

Dean was just as bad in the daytime.

He wouldn't let John or Sam out of his sight, clinging onto them frantically and sobbing whenever they had to leave his side – even if it was just for a few minutes as they washed or went to the toilet.

Whenever they were forced to leave so Dean could have a sponge bath, his wounds checked or injections (why John couldn't do it- hell knows), Dean would be inconsolable…he fought against the nurses and cried desperately until his family returned. On a few occasions, he would pull out his IVs and crawl under the bed…and if the nurses tried to restrain him, he would fight, kick and claw his way free.

In the end, John had taken to wrapping Dean in his leather jacket and only agreeing to leave when his surrogate son was asleep with Spot tucked under his arm.

Sam too rarely left Dean's side, spending his time reading Harry Potter Books out loud while his brother rested his ankle.

Despite this, Dean was getting restless.

He was constantly on edge in the unfamiliar surroundings and he constantly begged to go home.

Which was why everyone was thoroughly relieved a couple of weeks after Dean's run in with Sean, when his stitches were finally taken out and Dean was allowed to go home.

…

Dean woke up back in his bed at home, drenched in sweat, but otherwise dry. He'd unsurprisingly had another nightmare, but this was the first time since coming home two weeks ago that he had slept through the night without wetting the bed.

He let out a delighted whoop, which in turn woke Sam up.

"Dean? Y'alright?" Sam sounded panicked, although he never mentioned the events with Sean in front of Dean – in fear of upsetting him, it was clear that he was on edge when it came to Dean displaying fear. Of course, it was irrational since Sean was dead – but try telling Sam's subconscious that.

"Hmmm…oh, yeah Sammy, sorry. Everything's fine, great, go back to sleep." Dean replied softly, getting out of bed to give Sam a quick kiss on the forehead. It took a while to be able to do this because of his single stupid crutch – he had refused to use a wheelchair and he couldn't use two due to his shoulder wound – leaving him precariously relying on one.

This meant that he was much clumsier than usual and John, Bobby and Sam were regularly forced to catch him and prop him up to prevent further injury.

Though this morning, Dean was determined to do something right. He would make breakfast for his family, toast, bacon and hot drinks, and he would not fall over or ruin it.

He was still a little shaky from his nightmare and he was still tired, but he knew there was no getting back to sleep now – and it was almost seven anyway.

But first things first, he had to get downstairs.

Which turned out to be an incredibly time consuming and painstaking procedure without the support of his family…but eventually he made it.

He then turned his attention to making his way over to the bread bin, and after a few awkward maneuvers he managed to grab a loaf of wholemeal with his stiff and sore arm – his uninjured one holding the crutch. Once this task was accomplished, he leant against the kitchen counter and separated the slices awkwardly, placing four into the toaster and waiting for them to brown.

Dean repeated this a few times until there was enough for four slices of toast each – sixteen in total, which took ages - and then he placed them in the oven to keep them warm, wobbling precariously. His shoulder was sending spiking pains down his entire arm now, but none the less Dean was feeling rather pleased with himself.

He then got the butter and Sam's favorite jam out before frying some bacon.

However, halfway through the process his arm screamed out in protest and Dean almost dropped the food. He let out a small whimper before placing the pan down on the griddle, turning off the gas and hauling himself over to a chair to rest for a bit.

John came down and found Dean going through the breathing exercises the nurses taught him to get through pain.

Concern immediately flitted across his face and he cautiously rested a hand on the back of Dean's neck.

"Are you ok, Dean? What have I told you about overstretching yourself?" John eyed the chaotic scene of toast in the oven, bacon on the side and in the frying pan while mugs and coffee ingredients were splayed across the room.

With a sigh, John turned to Dean's shoulder, which was clearly still causing him pain. He gingerly removed the gauze bandage from the wound. Dean whimpered when John pressed around the gash gently, attempting to pull away when pain shot through him.

"Shhh, I have to do this. I'm just making sure it's not infected, it seems quite painful. I'm so sorry Dean."

"I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm not sorry. I'm glad it was me."

"Why?"

"H-he was aiming for Sammy." Dean said stiffly, turning away to let John continue checking his wound. It was a little red and puffy, and clearly rather sore, but it didn't look infected and was definitely healing nicely – there'd probably only be a faint scar left to serve as a reminder of what had happened. John was glad for that at least – thankful for small mercies.

John re-bandaged the cut.

"There, just relax Dean and I'll finish off the bacon and coffee."

"I'm not useless, I can make breakfast!"

"I know you can Dean, look, you can take the hard job…you can try to coax Sam out of the pit."

Dean laughed a little at this before hollering at the top of his voice.

"SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM! WAKE UP! BREAKFAST!"

John snorted with laugher when a bleary eyed Sam made his way downstairs in his oversized pajamas and crazy bed hair – which was sticking out all over the place like a lion's mane.

"Mornin'"

"Morning Sammy!" Dean stressed the 'g' on the end of morning and smirked as Sam groaned, ran a hand through his hair in a failed attempt to flatten it, and collapsed into the seat opposite him.

"Shuddup!"

"Shut up!"

"Ugh…jerk."

"Bitch."

"Am not!"

"Are to!"

"BOYS!" John interjected before the argument escalated any further.

"Sorry Dad!" They chorused back.

"Just sit and eat yer breakfast, idjits!" Bobby quipped, having entered the room with an empty mug from the night before – his nightly bottles of beer had been replaced by chamomile tea…much to John's amusement and Bobby's annoyance.

But he didn't complain too much, considering everything Dean had been through, sacrificing alcohol seemed to be a small price to pay for his happiness and peace of mind.

"Can I have some bacon?"

"Sure Dean, just make sure everyone else gets some too!"

"Ok." Dean grinned as he shoved a bacon loaded slice of toast into his mouth – the salty meat making up for the fact John was forcing him to eat healthy bread.

"Now then, I have something important to talk about."

Sam and Dean looked up, immediately interested.

"What?"

"Well, as I'm sure Sam knows, he has to go back to school soon. He's already had nearly a month off for family reasons and a mid-term break. But, I have been able to pull some strings and the good news is, Dean, that you can join mid-term and go to the same school as Sammy. You'll start next week. It's a mixed school for students from nursery age to eighteen year olds, so you don't have to worry about making friends. There'll be plenty of kids your age to play with."

Dean blanched, looking frantically at John as if he expected this to be a joke.

John didn't laugh.

"WHAT? School? I can't go to school! I'm too stupid for that…Dad always said-" Dean cut off, his head dropping so that he could examine the floor – which was suddenly very interesting.

"Dean, you're not stupid. I have explained that you were ill for a number of years, and are therefore in need of some extra assistance in class, but you are by no means stupid. I've already taught you some of the basics and your verbal language is brilliant. It's just reading and writing that you struggle with, and with time and some effort on all of our parts, we will rectify that. I've arranged for you to have the help of a teaching assistant, who will help you whenever you are struggling with something."

Dean didn't look convinced.

"What if I'm to dumb and they send me away."

"They won't do that sonny, you'll be brilliant." Bobby added, ruffling Dean's hair.

"And I'll help you…we can meet up at break and lunchtime and I'll help with your homework! School is the best, you'll really like it. Math is really cool, and science is awesome…English is a bit rubbish, but other than that, school is fun."

Dean nodded weakly, terrified that he was going to mess up, but not wanting to disappoint his family. With a grim expression, he took another bite of toast and bacon.

It tasted like cardboard now.

…

The last four days before Dean had to go to school passed quickly, but tensely. Dean was on edge the whole time, his nightmares seemed to have increased in frequency again and although he was no longer wetting, Dean woke frequently, screaming out in distress and waking up the rest of the family.

No one was getting enough sleep, but Dean was barely getting any at all – a couple of hours a night at most. He looked exhausted, pale faced and twitchy. His eyes often drooped and on occasion he fell asleep during meal times. Once, John had found his son asleep on the toilet and another time Dean fell asleep on the sofa lying across Bobby's chest, rendering the ex-hunter incapable of moving for an hour. Of course, the peace was interrupted, once by John taking a picture of the adorable scene and once by another of Dean's nightmares.

Whenever Dean woke from a particularly bad nightmare, he would climb into John's bed and cry softly until John managed to calm him back down. He'd cuddle Dean close to his chest and hum to him, but John was getting worried about Dean's clinginess. He was thirteen and this couldn't carry on much longer.

That was another thing, now that Dean was talking, John had found out that Dean was thirteen, not twelve or younger like he had initially thought.

He also found out that Dean's birthday was January the 24th, and it was already March. John's heart clenched when he realized Dean probably hadn't had a proper birthday in years. When January came round, he was going to spoil him rotten.

…

On the night before going to school, Dean woke from a particularly bad nightmare, screaming the house down and throwing up his dinner all over the bed. John had been forced to clear that up and help Dean into the bathroom to shower, wrapping his cast and bandages in plastic.

Dean was completely on edge after that, so John took him downstairs and stayed up with him, rocking Dean and comforting him softly.

"You're ok Dean, it's going to be fine. You're going to be great, Sammy and your helper will look after you, and I'll help with your homework when you get back."

Dean sniffed miserably and nodded, watching sadly as John made him a hot chocolate with extra cream and marshmallows.

"I know you're going to be fine, you just have to believe it too."

Dean smiled softly – no one had ever had this much confidence in him before – and with John rubbing his back gently. All of the stitches had dissolved and the bandages had been removed, so this no longer caused him any pain.

Dean eventually sank into his new father's side and drifted off again.

…

Dean pushed his slice of toast around the plate dejectedly – he'd only managed a few bites and he already felt sick again.

"Dean, you need to eat, son."

"I don't feel well. My stomach feels wrong."

"That's just the nerves; you'll be fine when you get to school."

"No – I feel really sick."

"Dean." John's voice took on a warning tone, "eat up your breakfast or you'll be late on your first day."

Dean nodded, cowed, and didn't complain for the rest of the breakfast.

In fact he didn't do anything. He didn't talk, drink, cry or eat for that matter. He sat blankly, fiddling with the cuff of his jumper compulsively.

His stomach was doing backflips and his hands were shaking. He hated the crisp new uniform that he had been stuffed into – the trousers were too baggy (John said he'd grow into them soon), his shirts were uncomfortable and restricted his movement, the top button was choking him and his grey jumper was itchy.

"Please don't make me go." Dean turned his puppy dog eyes on and pouted, but John was having none of it.

Dean needed to learn to be less clingy, he needed to gain some independence and he needed to learn how to read and write. And he needed to develop some social skills with someone other than his family.

"C'mon Dean, you need to put your tie on."

"I don't know how."

At first, John thought Dean was just being awkward and trying to stall proceedings, but he soon realized after watching Dean struggle with the knot for three minutes, that Dean really didn't know how.

"Here, let me." John knelt down in front of his adopted son and did up his tie – making a note to himself to teach Dean how to do it himself that night.

"There, perfect. You look very handsome."

Dean flushed and twiddled with the cuff of his jumper anxiously.

He felt like he couldn't breathe – he was convinced that the tie was cutting off his airway.

"C'mon boys, shoes and socks."

Sam nodded cheerfully, pulling on his shoes over his superman socks.

Dean pulled on his socks and looked down at his new black shoes doubtfully. He wriggled his toes into them before pausing, looking up at John again.

"I don't know how to do these." He mumbled, cheeks going scarlet.

John mentally berated himself – in his mind, these were simple day to day tasks.

But for Dean, who had been locked away and abused – they were daunting challenges.

He'd never been taught these skills, so no wonder the kid was terrified by the prospect – he was having hundreds of new things thrown at him.

"C;mon, today's going to be great. I can feel it."

Dean finally looked convinced, but John didn't believe what he had said. He didn't feel 'it' at all. All he felt was worry, fear and apprehension.

…

"Hello sweetheart, you must be Dean Winchester. My name is Miss Reed. Why don't you come over here and introduce yourself to everyone."

The kind-faced teacher beamed, revealing sparkling white teeth.

Dean allowed himself to be led to the front of the class, but when he stood there, he froze. Everyone was staring at him as if he were an exhibit in a zoo.

"It's alright, sweetie. We all know that first days are hard, I just want a few words."

"I-um. I'm Dean and…" Dean cut off, not having a clue about what to say. He was aware that his face had gone bright red and he was trembling softly.

Miss Reed noticed his discomfort, so swiftly guided him to a seat at the back of the class, reassuring him kindly, "ok honey, that'll do for now."

Dean nodded numbly and sat down, looking at the children around him. The boy sitting next to him had a mullet and there was a dark haired, blue eyed boy on his other side.

The mullet-boy smiled at him and tossed him a note, introducing himself as Ash, but the other boy ignored his existence completely.

Dean was fine with that.

Halfway through the lesson, a young woman came in and spoke to Miss Reed, who pointed over at Dean. Nodding, the woman smiled and approached Dean, pulling up a chair and settling next to him.

"Hello Dean, I'm Mrs Lawrence, I'll be helping you this year." Dean nodded glumly, fiddling with his jumper miserably as Mrs Lawrence tried to coax answers to maths out of him.

She failed dismally and by the time break came around, Dean was totally miserable and wanted to go home. He didn't know the answers to anything and just wanted Mrs Lawrence to wipe that infuriating smile from her face.

When the bell did finally come, after what seemed like days, Dean practically fled into the playground.

Ash came after him and began to introduce himself properly.

"Hey Dean, I'm Ash. If you want someone to hang with-"

"No thank you, I need to find Sammy."

Dean pulled away and began frantically searching for his brother, but there were what seemed like hundreds of other students and he couldn't see Sam anywhere.

Panic-fuelled tears prickled in Dean's eyes and Mrs Lawrence, who'd been watching from the window, was about to intervene when a smaller child with floppy hair ran over to him and pulled Dean into a hug.

That must be Dean's sibling, Sammy.

At least he was now in safe hands.

…

Much to Dean's panic, break ended far too quickly and he was ushered back into class by Ash.

"Right then class, we're going to do some presentations now on the American Revolution, so if you'd like to get into pairs…" Miss Reed said, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention.

It was like she'd unleashed a bomb, immediately everyone sprung up from their desks, pulling faces, yelling and running around until everyone but Dean and the black haired boy next to him had a partner.

"Now Dean, since your working in pairs, I'll leave you be. Don't want to cramp your style." Mrs Lawrence gave an annoyingly high pitched giggle before turning to the black haired boy, "now then Castiel, I expect you to make Dean feel welcome. I'm sure you'll get along swimmingly."

Castiel didn't look convinced about getting along swimmingly with Dean. His eyebrows furrowed and he scowled, tilting his head quizzically at Dean as if he was from another species.

"Great." The other boy muttered, looking at Dean glumly.

"Uh…hi?"

"Hello. Look, history is my favorite subject, so I'm not letting you ruin my grade by screwing up, ok? You can do chapter 5, I'll talk about chapter 6." And with that, the boy sat down and opened a text book.

He didn't exactly beat around the bush.

Dean looked down at his own book – well, one that he had borrowed from the teacher, and set about trying to read the chapter.

He got a couple of words in and began to panic.

The text was tiny – like, really tiny, and there wasn't a single picture on the page. And the issue wasn't just with the formatting, the choice of language was way beyond Dean's vocabulary and he didn't know what the fifth word meant at all. He'd never heard of it.

"Um, Castiel, what does that mean?" Dean pointed at the word. He forced himself to take a calming breath.

"God, you really are as stupid as you look. I can't believe I got lumped with you…in history of all subjects!" Dean's eyes stung with the familiar prickle of tears.

Why was this kid being such a jerk?

"Doesn't matter." Dean mumbled, trying to read the next part of the page and failing because his eyes had glazed over with tears and everything was fuzzy.

"Look, you don't have to cry about it Dean. I'm sorry, ok? I'm not really a people person; usually I'm allowed to work on my own."

Dean nodded and chewed a loose piece of skin on his lower lip, gnawing it anxiously as he finally reached the end of the first paragraph.

Castiel had already finished reading three double page spreads and Dean could feel his panic levels rising from simmering to overflowing.

He'd have nothing to say in front of the class for the presentation, and Cas had loads. He was going to look really stupid, and he'd probably do something dumb like stutter or stumble on his words. His father was right; Dean was too stupid for school.

Suddenly, anxiety hit Dean and he couldn't draw breath. Everything was blurring around him and nothing felt real any more, just the rapidly rising panic…the crushing fear of being a worthless waste of space.

John would be so disappointed in him for failing his first day at school.

Dean didn't notice his body falling sideways off of his chair, he didn't hear Castiel's deep voice trying to get through to him, or feel Castiel's strong hands shaking him. He was too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

The teacher noticed his distress and immediately dismissed the class so that Dean would have more space and no prying eyes focused on him.

"Dean, Dean? Sweetheart? Can you hear me, Dean? Breathe for me sweetie, come on. Don't panic, you're ok. Shhh, shhhhhh. Dean?" Dean couldn't stop the shaking, his whole body was practically convulsing with heaving sobs and he was still failing to draw in enough air.

Dean pulled away from the teacher frantically, beginning to cry again. He couldn't stop, despite knowing that everyone in his class was staring at him through the window.

He was so exhausted and overrun with emotions that he couldn't do anything other than grab at his bag and pull out Spot the dog, which he hugged close.

"S-S-sam-sammy. W-want S-s-sammy."

The teacher nodded and Mrs Lawrence – who had seemingly popped up from nowhere – hurried back out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a frantic looking Sam.

"De? What's wrong Dean? It's me, you can talk to me! It's ok." Dean's sobs quieted a little when Sam took him into his arms, humming Led Zeppelin as he did so.

A long while later, Dean finally managed to stop the tears from falling, his face beetroot-red as he realized that he had made a fool of himself in front of the whole class – on his first day.

"I-I want to go h-home." Dean hiccupped miserably.

"I'll take you to the nurses office Dean, and we'll call your father to let him know you're not feeling one-hundred percent, ok?"

Dean nodded and struggled to his good foot awkwardly, leaning on Sam as Mrs Lawrence handed him his crutch.

…

Time had no meaning as Dean waited miserably for John to arrive, and when his adoptive father finally did come, Dean had completely shut down.

"Dean? C'mon Ace, up ya get." John signed Dean and Sam out early for the day, helping Dean into the Impala and trying to calm him down.

"I-I'm sorry I was bad. P-please don't be m-mad at me."

John sighed and reached back to squeeze Dean's leg reassuringly.

"I could never be mad at you Dean, you did your best. I'm really proud of you for trying so hard. Things will be easier tomorrow."

Dean sighed – it looked like he still had to go back to school again the next day.

…

By the time John had pulled up in the Impala back at Bobby's, Dean had gained full control of his breathing, sniffing and tears – much to everyone's relief. However, he still looked forlorn and continued mumbling apologies for 'being bad' despite John's reassurances and Sam's attempts to cheer him up.

He hadn't even made it half a day at school – it was only third period still, he hadn't even managed to get on with it until lunch.

His dad had been right. He was a failure and a waste of space.

"C'mon inside, Dean, and we can talk about it."

Dean nodded sadly and undid his seatbelt, shoulders sagging as he made his way over to the front door. Bobby had already opened it for him, having heard the Impala pulling up and his face filled with concern at the sight of how miserable the boy looked.

"Oh Dean, chin up buddy."

Dean nodded and reached forward for a hug, which Bobby reciprocated, lifting the kid clean off the ground and allowing the boy to snuggle into his neck.

"C'mon, come and tell us what happened." Bobby carried Dean into the lounge and plopped him down on the sofa, settling next to him and wrapping an arm around Dean's slender shoulders.

John and Sam followed, John sitting on his other side and Sam sitting cross legged on the floor by his feet, leaning against his father's legs.

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Well tough, we do this the easy way or the hard way."

Dean pouted and shook his head.

"Fine, you asked for it."

John leant forward and began tickling Dean without mercy, laughing as the little boy kicked and struggled not to laugh whilst simultaneously trying to get away and pout.

Just as he was about to squirm free, Bobby joined in as well, tickling the back of his neck and Dean's side as John took the other side and behind Dean's knee. Even Sam joined in; tickling his older brother's feet until eventually Dean surrendered.

"Ok, ok, I'll tell you what happened s-STOP. N-no! Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad! Bobby! Stop it?!"

"Did you hear something Bobby?" John asked in a serious voice.

"No, I don't believe I did."

"That's funny…" John continued his tickle torture.

"Stooooooooooooooooop!"

"You know, I'm sure I heard something that time."

"I think Dean asked us to carry on tickling him."

"Nooooooooo!"

"What's that? No? Ok then." John finally ceased the tickling, allowing Dean to gasp in some air before prompting him to talk.

"Dean, what happened at school?"

"We got put into pairs to do some work, but I couldn't do it I didn't understand the book and the kid I was with was mean to me…and I panicked. And we have to do a presentation tomorrow and I have nothing to say."

"Things will get easier Dean, I'll help you read the book. Just show me what bit you have to do and we'll go through it. And as for the other boy, do you want me to make a complaint?"

"No, that'll just make things worse!"

"Ok, but what I can do is help you with the basics. C'mere and I'll show ya how to do those shoes and that tie up."

Half an hour later, Dean had finally got the hang of both types of knots, and although they were slightly messy, they would definitely pass muster.

John was glad he had started with this first, as by the time lunch came around Dean was finally in a much better mood. He had learnt how to do something today, and he wasn't completely useless.

The family sat together at lunch watching the baseball game, Dean intent upon trying to understand the rules and joining in with John as he cheered and booed along with the crowd.

"What a game!"

"That was awesome!"

"Dad, can I have another sandwich?"

Sam clearly wasn't at all impressed with the sport and sauntered off to the kitchen when John gave him the nod, leaving Dean, Bobby and John.

"JUST GO AND DO YOUR HOMEWORK!" John called after his son, even though he knew Sam would do it, and more extra work without the prompt. It was kind of a ritualistic habit.

"Right then Dean, how about we read some of that book of yours with ya, and we can sort out your presentation."

"Ok."

"Right, I want you to read it out loud, and whenever you get stuck, just ask and we'll explain what the word means."

It took an hour for Dean to finally read the chapter, with multiple prompts from John and Bobby, but in the end he understood the topic and he was able to make some notes for his presentation. A further hour later and he had a full speech written out in very shaky handwriting. John didn't have the heart to point out all of the spelling mistakes – he could work on that later.

Once Dean was done, he read his speech out to Sam, who gave him the thumbs up.

"That was really good Dean!"

"Thanks Sammy."

Dean smiled at the praise before grabbing a soccer ball and hobbling to the door.

"Last one outside is a whiny girl!"

"AM NOT!"

…

When Dean woke the next morning, he was apprehensive about giving his speech in front of the class, and about meeting up with Castiel again, but he was less terrified than the day before.

He managed to shove down some toast and dressed himself fully (tie and all) before waiting by the front door for Sam, tying his shoelaces as he did so.

"You ready to go son?" John asked, smiling proudly at Dean's progress.

"Yes Dad." Dean gave a small smile and allowed himself to be ushered into the car, where he listened to Sam chatting animatedly about the poem he was going to read out loud in class that day.

When they arrived, John gave both boys a cheery wave, "have a good times boys. Be good, and if you can't be good, don't get caught." With a cheery wink, he drove off, leaving both his boys to make their way to class.

Dean's first lesson of the day was maths and once again, Dean was assisted by Mrs Lawrence, but she still wasn't much help and Dean still didn't understand the topic.

As soon as he got one question right, she smiled patronizingly and patted Dean on the back, making the boy flinch away and blush.

"Well done Dean, I see we're progressing already."

God I want to slap her round the face with my calculator!

Dean kept his thoughts to himself, but spent the next half an hour imagining ways to shut his assistant up, rather than focusing on the math problems in hand.

When the bell finally rang, Dean shifted seats and Mrs Lawrence finally left…it was history and since they were doing their presentations, she wasn't needed.

Dean worried at his lip when he saw Castiel approaching and did everything he could to avoid the other boy's gaze, but Castiel didn't seem to get this memo and sat down, scooting his chair up to Dean's desk.

Miss Reed had just told them that they had ten minutes to collate their information and talk through their presentation before giving them, meaning that Dean was going to be forced to talk to the other boy.

But he didn't have to be happy about it.

"Dude, personal space." Dean snapped, trying to pull away.

"Hello, Dean. I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I was very rude and did not mean to cause you any distress." Although Castiel was rigid and his voice was formal, Dean could tell that he meant the apology.

"S'fine. Wasn't your fault I freaked out."

"Yes it-"

"It's a figure of speech. Lets just put it behind us, ok?"

Castiel gave a relived nod, turning to his notes.

"Shall we look at each other's pages to check everything is ok and that we haven't overlapped?"

"Sure."

They did so, but Dean struggled to read Castiel's handwriting, which was beautiful and elegant, but so swirly that he couldn't make out the words.

"So, do you believe my work is satisfactory?"

"What-yeah-um…"

"You couldn't read it, could you?"

Damn, this Castiel kid saw right through him.

"Uh-"

"Dean, are you feeling alright?" Castiel noticed how pale Dean had gone, and how the other boy was beginning to shake again.

"Peachy." But Dean wasn't feeling peachy; once again he was breaking out into a sweat and trembling softly.

"Miss, can me and Dean go to the bathroom?"

Castiel had clearly noticed that Dean was about to have another episode and he quickly handed Dean his crutch and ushered the taller boy out of the classroom before waiting for a response.

Once there, he guided Dean to the sink counter and placed a hand on his upper arm.

"Dean, are you having another panic attack?"

"N-no, m'fine, just give me a minute."

Dean stared at the specs of mud on the bathroom floor and the cracks in the tiles for a while, concentrating on evening out his breathing while Castiel reassured him softly with kind words and by rubbing his arm.

"T-thanks Cas, sorry I-"

"Panic attacks are irrational and can spring at any time, it was not your fault…I understand."

It was Cas' turn to look away and Dean saw something in his deep blue eyes. A sort of deep sadness.

"You've had them to, haven't you?"

"I have been prone to them, yes."

"How come?"

Castiel cleared his throat and turned away awkwardly. He re-adjusted the trench coat that he was wearing (come to think of it, how come he was allowed to wear something that wasn't regulation uniform?!)

"We should get back; we're missing the other presentations now."

Dean nodded, realizing that he had overstepped some sort of mark. His social skills still weren't that great with strangers and he had clearly offended the other boy. He wasn't used to this whole friend (if that's what you'd call it) thing.

"Yeah, um, sorry, forget I asked."

"No problem Dean."

Both boys walked back to class in silence, smiling apologetically at the teacher before being called to do their presentation.

Even though Dean stumbled on his words a few times, and lost his place once (it was hard clutching a crutch and notes) and went beet-red, the speech went down well and the rest of the class clapped.

Dean didn't really know what that meant, but judging by the smiles, he took it as a good thing.

…

Dean was glad when lunchtime finally rolled around; for one thing he was starving, for another he wanted to get away from Mrs Lawrence, and mainly, he was now able to say that he'd been in school for almost a whole day.

A definite improvement upon the day before.

He entered the canteen and stood in line for his food, smiling at the dinner lady, who gave him and extra large slice of pie…result! She then carried his drink to the table. He couldn't manage the crutch, drink and tray.

He guided her to an empty table for four – the only one that wasn't yet occupied by anyone else, but unfortunately for him, Castiel spotted him and hurried over, settling down opposite him.

"Hello."

"Hi?" Dean didn't know why the other boy chose to sit by him, but didn't comment and soon they were deep in conversation about how well their presentation had been received.

"You were really good, Dean."

"So were you…" Dean was interrupted when Sam ran over and plopped down beside him, a smaller boy with long, gold hair following close behind.

The stranger was the only one with a packed lunch, but he had a cocky air about him and didn't seem to be at all phased about sitting down with someone he didn't know, in the wrong half of the canteen (people with packed lunches and school dinners were technically meant to sit separately).

"Hello Gabriel." Castiel smiled at the boy, ruffling his hair and Dean realized the pair must know each other.

"This is my younger brother Gabriel, Gabriel, this is Dean, and I take it this is your younger brother, Sam?" Cas directed the last part of this to Dean, who gave a nod of confirmation.

"Heya Dean." Gabriel mumbled through a mouthfull of food – he had just crammed in half a Kit-Kat – part of each of the four sticks. Sam shuddered a little at the sight of his best friend eating it wrong.

"You're meant to eat it in four fingers, Gabe, not two bites!"

"Nah!" The younger boy shook his head, stuffing in the last half of the Kit-Kat before turning his attention to a triple chocolate muffin, and them a bag of chocolate coated popcorn.

Dean felt sick just looking at it.

After a few minutes of chatting, Castiel excused himself to get another glass of water, and in the time he was gone, Gabriel pulled a whoopee cushion out from his pocket and placed it on his brother's seat.

When Cas returned and sat down, the whole canteen whipped around to look at him – the sound vibrations from the farting noise could have been measured on the Richter scale!

"That was not me." Castiel said, going scarlet in a confirmation of the fact it had been him making the noise – even if not directly from his body.

The other three boys burst out laughing as Cas pulled the pink rubber from beneath him, and when Cas slapped his brother round the face with it.

Gabriel shot him a mock hurt expression before unwrapping a lollipop and beginning to suck on it nonchalantly.

"Ugh, I hate you Gabriel."

"Love you too, angelcakes."

"Don't call me that in public!"

"Oh, so I can call you it at home?"

"NO!"

Gabriel jumped just in time to miss Cas' lunge, sprinting across the canteen to the playground – but not before grabbing his older brother's slice of apple pie.

"Brothers!"

Dean snickered and looked at Sam, who grinned and chased after his friend to play ball.

"Looks like our brothers are besties then."

"Yeah, I guess they are."

"Uh, Cas?"

"Yes?"

"What are we doing?"

"What do you mean? We are finishing our lunch."

"No I mean – y'know, are we…friends?" Dean flushed scarlet, waiting for Castiel to reject him.

"Of course we are." Castiel said it so matter of factly that Dean had to laugh. Here Dean was, worrying about approaching the subject and it seemed that they had somehow already reached a certain bonding point without him so much as realizing.

"Oh, cool. D'ya wanna go to the field or something?"

"Ok."

Both boys headed to the field and tossed a tennis ball back and forth between them, talking about whatever came to mind.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"How come you only just joined school?"

"I was ill."

"You're lying to me. Friends don't lie."

"No I'm n-"

"You are, I can tell. People often say that I'm antisocial, but that's not true. I just see people for who they are – and most of the time they aren't the sort I want to spend my time with. You're different. You have a good soul…but I can see straight through your lies."

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Dean!" Cas' voice took on a warning tone and he tilted his head quizzically.

"Fine, I tell you what happened, and you tell me about yourself and your panic attacks."

"Ok."

Dean hadn't expected Castiel to agree to that.

"Um, I guess, I wasn't in school because…I-Look, I can't do this!"

"Sure you can, you just don't want to. It'll help to talk."

"I-I was living on my own for a while…um, a few years, really."

"Years? Alone? Why?"

"Yeah, I lived in the woods on my own, before John rescued me. But everyone thinks he's my real dad, so you can't tell anyone about this!"

"That must have been rough."

"Yeah, I've had better times."

"I take it you ran away from your real father then?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"He…I cant talk about this. I've gotta go and get ready for sport next." Dean got to his feet awkwardly, wobbling on his crutch and only making it a few steps before Castiel yelled out at him.

"DEAN! Wait! I had panic attacks because my parents were getting a divorce. My mum left and Dad was never around. I became bulimic, and my older brother Michael found out. That's when I started have them, I thought I was worthless and that the divorce was my fault and that Michael would be mad. He walked in on me one time when I was making myself sick and he helped me. But I had panic attacks after that for quite a while…I kept thinking I was bad."

"Oh." Dean stopped in his tracks. He didn't have a clue what to say to that, so he probably chose something insensitive knowing his luck, "what's bulimic?"

Luckily, Castiel didn't seem phased by his bluntness.

"Bulimia is a disease where you make yourself sick after eating…it's kind of a way to gain control over things when everything else is going wrong."

"But…weren't you hungry?"

"My body learnt to forget about that after a while. I just liked being in control for once. It made me feel safe. But I've stopped now, sometimes I feel the urge, but Michael and Gabriel support me and I know that there are people out there that would kill for food – I felt bad for wasting it, not that I was doing so intentionally – but it was a mindset that helped me out."

Dean thought for a moment before speaking.

"I-I was never that hungry in the forest…my body nearly starved and I had pneumonia when John found me. I almost died. But I didn't feel hungry much either…I guess I understand what that's like. And…I ran away because my dad abused me. He'd hit me with his belt and punch me. Dad found me recently and kidnapped me and Sammy, the he broke my ribs and my leg…and he stabbed my shoulder. But it's ok, he's dead now."

"Oh my god!"

"Yeah, it was pretty grim I guess. But I'm ok now and my leg'll be out of its cast in a few days."

"I guess that's good."

"Yeah. Small mercies, huh?"

"Yes, small mercies. We have more in common than I thought."

"Yeah…we're both screwed up!"

"No, we both beat our hardships. We're free to make our own choices now, you have a new family, and I have moved in with Michael, his girlfriend Anna and Gabriel."

"Huh, team free will…"

"I like that." Cas smiled softly, giving Dean a quick hug.

They walked back inside in companionable silence, both glad to finally have a friend who they could trust and rely on.

…

Well, Cas soon learnt that he couldn't rely on Dean in Sport – despite his crutch, Dean was still agile enough to get him out three times, even if he couldn't run.

He had a very good aim.

By the end of the lesson, the teacher said he had so much promise that he was made the head of the dodge ball team.

"I can't wait to see what you're like without that stick; you're just what this class needed!"

"Thanks coach!"

"You should try out for soccer and baseball in a couple of weeks as well, I'm sure you'd be great at them to."

…

"Dean, I'm so proud of you kiddo!" John beamed when his surrogate son told him about his day and about dodge ball, as well as making a friend.

He thought nothing would improve his day.

He was wrong; Sam announced that he too had had a successful day. He had once again been appointed head of the Mathletes team and was awarded full marks for his poetry reading.

John was the proudest parent alive and Bobby felt warm and gooey like he'd burst - not that he'd show it.

That night, they went to the local diner for dinner and both boys were allowed whatever they wanted. Sam tucked into a huge chicken salad and lemon sorbet, whilst Dean ate a triple cheeseburger with extra bacon and two slices of pie.

Both boys were equally pleased at how well their second day at school had gone.

…

It was three weeks later and Dean had well and truly settled in at school.

He'd taken his role as captain of the dodgeball very seriously and in no time at all, his team had improved tenfold. They met up every Thursday at lunchtime and every Friday after school. Ash, his fellow classmate and dodgeball player had become another close friend and Dean had already been to Cas' house with him – the trio had spent a whole afternoon playing video games, eating popcorn and drinking Pepsi until they were completely hyper.

John hadn't complained when his son came home practically vibrating, he was just glad that Dean was having a great time. However, he was seeing less and less of his boy every week. Dean was not only captain of the dodgeball team, but also of the soccer team and, he had been doing cross-country runs every Tuesday after school.

Now that Dean had his cast off and no crutch, there was no stopping him.

Well…other than the other school lessons.

Castiel was helping Dean with history – which he was now just about passing, but maths was still a major weak point. Despite Sammy's various attempts at helping Dean with his math and John tutoring him on it for an hour a day, Dean just couldn't grasp the subject and in the end his teacher and the school nurse had pronounced that Dean was suffering with dyscalculia.

Of course, that meant nothing to John and Bobby at first – neither of them had heard of such a thing, but after some research they found out this meant that Dean had a math-based learning difficulty.

This explained why Dean was having so much trouble; he could barely organize numbers and do simple addition and subtraction, let alone times tables and freaking algebra (their latest topic at school which went straight over Dean's head).

In the end, Dean had been allowed to skip his math class, he no longer had to suffer in embarrassment with the rest of the class, but now he had one-to-one lessons with Mr Parkins. Dean wasn't sure whether this was more humiliating than the group lessons – at least in a group he could switch off.

Now all of the teacher's attention was on him so he couldn't daydream or work on his other homework.

On top of this, Dean was still being helped by Mrs Lawrence, who continued treating Dean like an imbecile.

It was official; Dean hated everything about school except for sport and his few friends – Sam, Gabriel, Ash and Castiel.

…

The school bell for lunch rang loudly and once again Dean flinched visibly, scrunching his shoulders against the noise as if he expected something to hurt him. For some reason, the bell was a trigger for him – something to do with how loud noises had always resulted in pain back with his birth father. Whenever Sean yelled, Dean knew that he was in trouble and that he would be punished.

Castiel watched Dean worriedly, as he did every time this happened, and waited for Dean to de-tense himself before patting him on the back awkwardly, heading out of the classroom and into the hustle and bustle of the hallways.

This was another thing Dean hated.

When he had been on crutches, Dean had been allowed to move between lessons a couple of minutes early so that his leg didn't get knocked, but now he had to battle his way through the throng like everyone else.

This had led to one major panic attack and a couple of small ones, but Castiel always helped him through it and eventually the lure of the canteen always won out.

Dean was reputable by his love of pie amongst the canteen staff (who all had a soft spot for the new kid) and he was often given and extra large slice.

Sammy and Gabriel would always sit with Cas and Dean at a table and they would chat and make jokes about Gabe's alarming sugar intake. Then, during the second half of the lunch hour, Sam would go to the library, Gabriel would join him or go to music lessons (he was learning to play the drums) and Dean and Cas would go out to the field to get some fresh air.

The field was Dean's favorite place at school, one of the few areas where he didn't feel claustrophobic and repressed. He and Cas would always sit and chat, play cards, or kick a ball around. Dean was always better at the football, scoring through their makeshift goals of empty bottles and dumped jumpers, but more often than not, Castiel hammered him at the card games.

Dean always blamed this on his struggles with numbers, but in reality Castiel was a beast at cards and number issues or not, there was no way Dean would play him for money.

Lunch that day had begun as usual, with Gabriel slipping salt into Cas' tea and placing a fake half-caterpillar in Sam's salad (that would serve him right for being so god damned healthy all the time), but when Cas and Dean were on the field, things started to go downhill.

Across the grass, they could see the school bullies, Zach and Luke, picking on a blonde girl in their year. Dean immediately recognized the girl as Jo Harvelle and for a moment he didn't know what to do.

Jo was renowned for being tough as old boots and she could probably sort the situation by herself. Besides, if he and Cas helped, she would probably accuse them of calling her weak and kick their asses.

However, when Zach was finally able to get the upper hand (by grabbing Jo by the hair and hitting her in the breast) Dean knew he had to do something. By the time he had sprinted over with Cas hot on his heels, Jo was dangling helplessly in Zach's grip as Luke began searching her pockets and stealing her dinner money.

Of course, Jo wasn't going down without a fight – she was kicking and spitting like a wildcat, clawing at her captors and snarling at them. She eventually sank her teeth into Zach's arm, but he refused to let go.

Dean knew he had to do something.

"HEY, DICKBAG, get off of her!" He closed the gap between himself and the other boys, tackling Zach to the ground so that he had no choice other than letting go of Jo.

In a flurry of limbs, Jo proceeded to wrestle her money back from Luke and she kicked him hard in the genitals for good measure. Meanwhile, Dean had given Zach a bloody nose and Castiel had calmly told everyone to calm down and break it up.

Eventually Zach and Luke hobbled away, leaving Dean panting, Cas worriedly looking between him and Jo, and Jo huffing angrily.

"I didn't need help, dicks. I'm not some damsel in distress."

Castiel raised his hands placating, "we were only trying to help."

"Yeah, well-" Jo cut off, looking concernedly at Dean, whose face had paled. Dean was beginning to shake violently and Cas, knowing what was coming, helped Dean sit down amongst the grass and rubbed his back gently.

"S'okay Dean. You're fine."

"I-I h-hit..." Dean blanched, bending over his now churning stomach as he expelled its contents on the ground.

"Dean, calm down. You did well; it was the right thing to do. He was hurting Jo."

Speaking of which, Jo was staring at the two boys with an expression of shock and confusion. She'd been angry with them for assuming that she needed their help, but now Dean was properly freaking out for no apparent reason and this confused her.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Panic attack," Cas mumbled, not really paying attention to the blonde girl until eventually Dean stopped dry heaving. However, this wasn't much of an improvement because as soon as the retching stopped, Dean began to sob into Castiel's shoulder.

"Should I get a teacher?"

"No." Castiel said flatly, shushing Dean and rubbing his back.

"I-I – he, he always said that I-I'd be like him one d-day. I-I'm a m-monster too! I hurt someone – I – I…" Dean tapered off, suddenly regaining composure and stumbling upright, rubbing the tears from his blotchy face.

"Dean?" Jo and Cas called after him as Dean turned and ran, but neither followed.

Cas knew that Dean needed space, and Jo wanted an explanation.

"What the hell was all that about? Who's him?"

"Uh, I can't tell you. I should probably-" Castiel cut himself off, uncertain about how to continue.

"Well, thanks for helping me." Jo muttered awkwardly before turning with a flash of golden hair and an uncertain smile, leaving Castiel to make his way back to class – alone.

Dean didn't turn up until halfway through their science lesson and when he did, Mrs Lawrence had a fat go at him for being late. She clearly didn't notice Dean's bloodshot eyes or the way he hunched over more than usual.

When Mrs Lawrence finally left Dean's side for a few moments to talk to Miss Reed, Cas whispered to him.

"Dean, you ok? You look awful."

"Dude, I'm handsome and you know it. And yeah, I'm peachy, just felt a bit sick. Gabe probably spiked my food or something." Castiel wasn't buying Dean's overly cheerful grin. Dean always tried to make jokes or sarcastic comments, even – no, especially –when the shit hit the fan.

This was definitely one of those occasions.

"Look Dean, you're not like him. You're not some sick psycho, you were protecting Jo. She says thanks by the way."

Dean nodded, looking slightly better. Cas' reassurances had made him feel better.

Although the taller boy would hate to admit it, he relied wholly on his family and friends. He needed constant reassurances and some would say that he had attachment issues.

Hell, Gabriel joked that he and Cas were like 'friggin limpets with separation anxiety.'

…

After school, Dean was doing some laps around the school field to vent some stress whilst Sammy stayed behind for chess club. Technically, Dean was meant to be studying in the library, but he wasn't in the mood.

He was on his fourth lap when he saw Jo from across the field, waving her arms at him with Cas in tow. He'd assumed that his best friend had long gone home.

"DEAN!"

"COMING!" Dean jogged over, cutting off half of his circuit and bending over with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath besides his friend.

"Wh't d'ya want?"

"Do you want to go for a sleepover tonight, me, you, Cas, Gabriel and Sam? Mom heard about what happened and wanted to have you over for tea. We can watch movies or something."

Dean looked perplexed, but Castiel gave him a puppy-dog look with his wide blue eyes and Dean knew the battle was won.

"Cool, I'll ring dad and ask."

Dean did just that and John nodded in agreement, dropping round some stuff at the school entrance for Dean and Sam before telling both boys to be good (Dean had collected Sam and Gabriel from chess early).

Gabriel and Cas also had clothes dropped off by Michael and ten minutes later, Jo's mom turned up with a broad grin.

"Hello boys, I'm Ellen. I hear you helped my little Jo out."

"M'not little mom!"

"Sure yer aren't kid," Ellen smiled, ruffling her daughter’s hair before giving Dean and Cas a tight hug.

"Now, what about some pizza as a reward?"

…

Jo and Dean were in the kitchen getting drinks for everyone.

"Hey, Dean, thanks for helping me back there. Luke was being a real dick. I appreciate you sticking up for me and everything."

"No problem."

"Dean?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why did you have a panic attack? I mean- I know it's rude to ask, but I have to know!"

"It just reminded me of the past – someone – used to hurt me a lot and I swore I'd never hurt anyone human being like he hurt me."

"I'm sorry I made you break that promise, you didn't have to do it for me."

"Nah, it's fine. I don't count him as human, that dickbag was a bully and he deserved what was coming to him. Besides, I barely hit him and he was crying like a little bitch."

Jo chuckled at this before tossing a piece of popcorn at Dean, who caught it with his mouth and grinned.

"Yeah, we should; probably eat some before Gabriel gets at it. There'll be none left otherwise."

Dean laughed and gave Jo a gentle push as she carried half of the drinks into the other room – Dean had the other ones.

When they came in – both trying to trip the other up playfully – they found that Castiel had finally managed to get the DVD player to work.

Dean climbed carefully over the mattresses, which had been laid down on the floor and covered with blankets and duvets.

It was the only room big enough for the five children and they had made it into a sort of den.

All five of them were full of candy, crisps and fizzy drinks and they were watching the third Harry Potter film in their movie marathon.

Dean, who had never seen the movies before, was watching the screen intently, whilst Sam and Gabriel giggled in one corner, Cas sat curled up next to him dozing off and Jo was helping herself to another handful of salt and vinegar crisps.

Ellen kept poking her head through the door, offering refreshments and smiling at the children. Ash – who it turned out had been adopted by Ellen and lived with Jo (who knew – it was a small world), had also joined the boys.

"Oh I love this part, with the hippogriff! Awesome." Ash plopped down on one of the mattresses and grabbed the bowl of crisps off Jo, who glared at him angrily.

"Hey!" Jo lunched at her adopted brother, growling at him before lunging and grabbing at the back of his mullet.

"Share!"

In the end, the crisps were flung into the air and landed amongst the boys, who scrambled to pick them up and eat them before Ellen returned.

Eventually, at gone two in the morning Ellen put her foot down and told the boys and Jo to go to sleep (Friday or not), which they did. Ellen was incredibly kind, but she was using her warning voice and they knew it would be best to sleep.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and all that…

…

Dean woke up trembling and sweating, looking around wildly at his unfamiliar surroundings until he remembered that he was at Jo's house.

He'd had another nightmare and to his horror, Dean realized that he had wet his sleeping bag.

He didn't have a clue how this had happened, he hadn't wet in weeks – but then again he hadn't had a nightmare this bad in weeks either.

His father had been beating Dean again, but this time he had hurt Sammy as well and Dean was struggling to get the images out of his head.

Shakily, he managed to wriggle from the wet sleeping bag and grab his clean clothes from his bag, shaking softly in the pitch black darkness. The next obstacle was actually getting out of the room and Dean had to carefully step over his sleeping friends and sneak to the door without waking them.

If his friends found out –

Well, they'd think he was a right freak and probably never talk to him again or something.

After stepping on a creaking floorboard, Dean froze. Ash gave a small grunt in his sleep and Gabriel rolled over, but other than that, no one made any move to indicate they had heard him.

Allowing himself a small smile, Dean opened the door and crept to the bathroom – which was annoyingly upstairs. He was hyper-aware of how the stairs creaked beneath his weight, but eventually he made it to the bathroom, where he stripped off his wet pajamas, changed into his clean clothes and tried to wash his sleeping bag in the sink.

When he was bundling up the wet fabric, Dean heard a gentle knock on the door and froze.

"Sweetie, are you ok in there? I heard you go into the bathroom quite a while ago."

It was Ellen.

Dean swallowed hard before opening the door and nodding shame-facedly.

"S-sorry I woke you Miss, I didn't mean to."

"That's alright sweetie-is that your sleeping bag?"

Dean blushed scarlet and looked down at the floor, tears stinging his eyes.

"Y-yes Ma'am."

"Oh Dean, did you have an accident, honey?"

Dean gave another small nod and the first few tears began to fall.

"Oh sweetheart, don't cry. It's ok, it wasn't your fault. Did you have a bad dream sweetie?"

Dean nodded and bowed his head, crying harder than before.

"I'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I-"

Ellen shushed him softly and pulled him into a tight hug, lifting the skinny boy up and carrying him into her bedroom, where she settled him on the bed and hugged him tight. Dean leant into the embrace, burying his face in Ellen's bosom and sobbing in a combination of humiliation and fear.

"Shh, it's alright Dean, don't cry darling. Shhhhh, s'alright. Ellen's got ya." Ellen rubbed Dean's back and didn't stop until Dean had stopped crying and had gained control of his breathing. Then, she pulled back to look at him concernedly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, but – thanks."

"That's ok. Now, why don't you head back downstairs and take this." Ellen pulled out a spare sleeping bag that she used on camping trips with Jo, handing it to Dean. "They're not quite the same, but no-one will notice that you swapped sleeping bags."

"Thanks Ellen."

"Anytime you want to talk, I'm here." Ellen kissed Dean gently on the forehead before guiding him back to the hallway.

"Sleep well."

Dean nodded gratefully and shuffled bag to his section of mattress and slid into Ellen's sleeping bag, falling asleep wondering whether this was what having a mother was like.

He didn't remember much about his real mother, and he wished now more than ever that he knew what she was like. Maybe she wore the same perfume of Ellen. Maybe her hair smelt of fruity shampoo like Ellen's.

Either way, Dean was sure that she would have hugged him and comforted like Ellen had.

Final Chapter – Destiel Version

Dean grunted in annoyance when he felt a sturdy hand shaking him awake. He tried to bury his face deeper into his fluffy pillow and pulled his blankets up over his head, but someone jumped onto his bed and yanked them back down – Sammy.

"Saaaaaaaaaaaam! M'sleepin…"

"No you're not, you're awake, otherwise you wouldn't be speaking – I mean, you do sleep talk, but when you do that we don’t have full conversations..."

"Smartass."

"Don't talk to Sammy like that." John's voice held no real anger, but Dean looked up confused.

"Dad? Why'ya getting me up?"

"Because…"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Both Sam and John yelled at the top of their voices, Sam bouncing excitedly on Dean's bed and John chuckling softly.

"What?"

"It's your birthday Dean, we're gonna celebrate this year."

"Oh…" Dean looked rather confused, rolling on his stomach and trying to remember the last time he had properly celebrated his birthday. He couldn't really remember, but assumed it had been before his mom died. The realization that he couldn't remember how his mom had celebrated his birthday with him came crashing down on Dean and he bit back the tears welling in his eyes.

It took a moment for Dean to regain composure, to force himself not to cry.

He was older now – and more mature than when he first met the Winchesters. He didn't have panic attacks and he certainly did not wet the bed anymore – something which John had taken him aside and gently praised him for.

However, despite John knowing that his little boy was now a 'grown up and not a baby any more,' he could see the sadness wash over Dean and immediately cuddled him close.

When he saw that Dean had gathered himself a little – Dean was always trying to be a strong tough guy now – he began to tickle his adopted son.

Dean gasped with laughter and struggled, desperately fighting against John – but it was useless as Sam was now pinning him down and tickling his sides.

Eventually his family got off of Dean's back – but only when all three of them were red in the face with tears streaming down their faces.

"Ok, ok, I surrender."

"Good, just in time for breakfast then."

Luckily Dean's birthday had landed on a Sunday, so John had Saturday night (he refused to work on weekends) and that morning to prepare with Bobby, and they had really gone to town.

The entire kitchen had been filled with balloons in varying shades of blues, greens and silver and there was even a banner hanging from the fan and light fitting that read 'Happy Birthday!'

Dean stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the room, a grin spreading across his face when he saw Bobby flipping pancakes in the corner and how the room had been decorated.

"Wow…"

Dean didn't know what else to say, so he muttered another "wow" before throwing his arms around John, and then Bobby.

"Hey, watch it ya idjit, I have a boiling hot frying pan and I'm not afraid to use it." Bobby joked, ruffling Dean's hair before finishing off the last pancake and embracing the boy tight.

"I take it you like the décor?!"

"It's amazing; this is the best birthday ever!"

"Hold ya horses, we haven't even gotten started yet."

Before Dean could question this, Sam bundled him onto a seat and Bobby doled out the first course of pancakes. Dean grinned as he smothered his with as much caramel sauce as humanly possible, taking advantage of the fact that it was his birthday and the adults wouldn't tell him off for doing so.

"Mmmmmm, these are great."

"Yeah!" Sam mumbled through a mouthful of his own pancakes – drowned in lemon juice and sugar.

Once everyone had finished eating, John straightened out and made his way to the other room, reappearing moments later with a huge envelope.

"First things first, you'll be needing something in here."

Dean beamed and tore open the envelope, smiling at the image of a sports car and full out beaming when he saw the huge birthday badge, which he promptly pinned to his T-shirt.

When he read the three messages inside the card, one each from Bobby, Sam and John, he was nearly in tears again – but the happy type.

"Well, now that you've got yer badge on, how about some real presents."

"Presents? For me?"

"Nah, we got them for the Queen of Sheba, but she hasn't turned up yet so you'll have to do."

Dean smirked and punched Bobby in the shoulder jokingly before Sam took hold of his hand and pulled him into the living room – which had the biggest pile of presents Dean had ever seen on the rug.

"Awesome!"

"Dig in boy, we aint got all day."

Dean didn't need telling twice, plopping down on the ground and grabbing the closest gift to him.

He read the label which announced that the present was from Bobby and tore of the paper to reveal a box. Inside said box was a brand new pair of sneakers; they were a crisp white with studs along the base – proper running shoes for his sports clubs and training.

Immediately Dean slipped them on over his Batman socks, grinning like a five year old when he discovered that they didn't only fit properly, but were the comfiest shoes he had worn in his entire life.

"Thank you so much Bobby, they're amazing." Dean stood and threw his arms around the ex-hunter, squeezing him tight until Bobby announced that he'd like his ribs to remain in tact, thank you very much.

Sam giggled at this before picking out another present and pushing it towards his older brother.

"Here, this one's from me!"

"Thanks man!"

Dean tore open the messily wrapped paper and grinned when he saw that it was a huge photo frame – the type divided into fifteen sections of different shapes and sizes. Each segment had been filled with pictures of his family. There were ones of him and Sam together, some of him and John, ones with all three of them and even some with Bobby, Cas, Ellen, Jo and Ash.

But there was one photograph in particular that grabbed his attention.

In the centre of the frame was a oval photo of a young woman with golden blonde hair flowing down to her waist. She was holding onto the chain with one hand and in her other she was cradling a six month old baby with emerald green eyes. She was smiling sweetly to reveal her glistening white teeth and her own green eyes seemed to shimmer in the camera flash.

Dean immediately knew who she was, his mom.

"H-how?" Dean looked at Sam, completely bewildered.

"When Sean took us, I saw the photo in the room he kept us tied up in…and when Dad came back to get you, I told him to grab it. I thought you'd want to keep it."

"Thanks Sammy. This is the best present in the world." Dean pulled Sam into a tight hug, burying his face into the crook of Sam's neck for a moment as he hid his face beneath Sam's long bangs in an attempt to regain composure.

Sam hugged Dean back, squeezing him tight until his brother finally pulled away and gave a gruff cough.

John actually felt his own throat constricting and firmly told himself not to be a wet noodle – but it didn't really work.

Dean spent a few more moments running his fingers across the photos, tracing the outline of his family's faces before placing the frame to the side and out of harms way.

"How about this one next?" John asked gruffly, nudging over another parcel with his foot.

Inside were some Indiana Jones DVDs, which he promised he would watch with Dean later that night.

And there were plenty more presents to come…

Once Dean had opened books, a new CD player and some tickets to an AC/DC tribute band, John tied a blindfold around his eyes and let him to the car.

"Dad? Where are we going? Saaaam? What's going on?"

When the Impala eventually pulled up after a twenty minute drive, Dean was completely bemused and bundled out of the car – Sam took his hand and practically dragged him along. They nearly tripped on multiple occasions, but Dean didn't really care. He trusted Sam with his life.

After a while Dean sensed that he was inside, but it wasn't until he had been walking for another good minute that he was finally held still by John and Sam as Bobby untied the blindfold.

"SURPRISE!"

Dean blinked in shock as the light assaulted him, taking in the sight of all his friends standing up and setting off party poppers and streamers so the paper and metallic strips caught in his spiked up hair.

Everyone was crowded around the long table, Jo, Ash, Ellen, Gabriel and Castiel. Even Jody Mills had turned up.

"Hi guys." Dean shuffled awkwardly as he once again found himself faced with balloons and banners. He now recognized where he was – Ellen's bar, The Roadhouse.

"Hey Dean, happy birthday honey, why don't you go and take a seat over there?" Ellen walked over and gave Dean a quick peck on the cheek before guiding him to the head of the table, sandwiched between Cas and Sam.

She then proceeded to guide everyone else around, Gabe next to Sam, John beside Ash and Jo and Ellen sitting opposite Bobby and Jody – who were pressed tightly against each other.

Despite having adamantly exclaimed that there was nothing going on between him and Jody, nobody believed that they were not an item. You could see it in the hardened hunter and police woman's eyes – they were practically eyefucking, it was bordering on inappropriate in front of the children.

But of course, Bobby did not have feeling – he was a tough guy.

The Bobby doth protest too much, methinks.

Halfway through a birthday meal of burgers, fries, pizza, bowls of chips and M&Ms (which Dean and Gabriel fought over), Bobby was holding hands with Jody beneath the table and John was smiling softly at the pair – they looked so relaxed together, well, until Gabriel noticed as well and started to wolf whistle.

Kids.

This of course led to a round of giggles,

Once they were all finished and Bobby and Jody had cleared the plates, both flushing from Gabriel's antics, Ellen bought out a CD player and started a game of musical chairs. Gabriel placed one of his trusty whoopee cushions on a chair each round, so not only were people fighting for chairs when the music stopped, they were also fighting not to have to sit on the boobie-trapped seat.

After the fourth round, dirty tactics were coming out and at one point Bobby pulled the seat Gabriel was plopping down on from under his bottom. Once everyone had regained their breath from laughing and Cas had won the game – he was definitely a dark horse, they settled down for a game of pass the parcel.

This time, Jo won the game and opened the last parcel – a huge pack of candies which she willingly shared out.

"Right then, presents!" Ellen announced, grabbing a huge bag filled with presents from everyone.

Dean blinked away his surprise and dug in, opening up a load of awesome band shirts from Ellen and Jo. There was a Metallica one, a Led Zeppelin long sleeved top and an AC/DC tank top.

Dean thanked them again and again, hugging Ellen tight before hugging Jo tight.

Ash had also bought him a present – CDs by the same bands so that he could 'rock out to some sweet tunes whilst wearing the merch!'

Soon, there was only one parcel left, this one from Gabriel.

Inside was Dean's very own whoopee cushion in a dark shade of green. Dean laughed at this and saw that there was something wrapped inside the rubber – it was a hand carved wooden Impala.

"Jesus, Gabe did you make this?"

"Sure did, you sound so surprised that I have a talent." Gabriel gave a cheesy wink to show that he was joking.

"It's amazing, thank you."

"Yeah, well now you can fantasize and picture your 'Baby' wherever you are."

"I really appreciate it."

"Good, I cut myself with a saw making that!"

Gabriel held out a plastered finger, making the others laugh.

Some things never change.

Dean was broken from his staring fest at the wooden model by a soft hand on his upper arm.

Castiel was hovering behind him, somewhat awkwardly with his head tilted to the side and a slightly worried look on his face.

"I-um, I didn't know what to purchase for your birthday gift, so I thought…" Cas trailed off, offering Dean a hand to his feet before looking up at him.

Blue met green and before Dean knew what was happening; his lips were pressed tightly to Castiel's.

The kiss was quick and awkward, with Cas drawing back almost immediately to check that Dean wasn't angry with him for making such a surprising move.

Dean was a lot of things, but angry wasn't one of them.

He quickly re-arranged his look of shock into a smile, and that was all the reassurance Cas needed.

He closed the gap between them again, wetting his lips quickly before once again raising himself onto his tip toes and kissing Dean again. This time, he softly parted his lips and soon both boys were exploring each other's mouths with tentative licks and swirls of motion.

Dean tasted of his birthday apple pie that Jody had made and Cas tasted of the few chocolate M&Ms he had managed to snatch from Gabriel's plate.

Dean was in heaven.

Both Dean and Cas let out soft moans and pulled each other in tight, Cas wrapping his arms around Dean's neck and Dean gripping hard to Cas' waist and the back of his head, pulling Cas in for another deep kiss.

He could feel the shorter boy's heart racing and this time when they pulled away for air, Dean buried his face in Castiel's mess of dark bed hair.

Even his shampoo smelt amazing and Dean let out an embarrassing squeak of satisfaction when Cas nested his head in the crook of Dean's neck, whispering "happy birthday, Dean."

"Thanks Cas."

When they finally pulled apart, Ellen and Jody were dabbing at their eyes with napkins, Sam, Jo and Gabe looked gob smacked, Bobby had his arm around Jody's waist and John looked like the proudest man alive.

They may not be the most conventional family, but in that moment of time, they were happy.

And that was enough.

Epilogue  
Cas and Dean are now 23. 

Dean clung on tighter to Cas' hand, guiding him amongst the trees and laughing softly when Cas tripped over a tree root and winged that he had gotten mud on the hem of his new trench coat.

"You are such a girl, Cassie!"

"Am not! Where are we going anyway? Are we nearly there yet?"

"Let me take back my last comment, you are like a whiny five year old girl!"

"Am not!"

"You prove my point, anyway, just a few more minutes."

Dean pecked Cas on the cheek softly and carried on walking until eventually they reached a beautiful clear blue lake surrounded by wildflowers.

"Dean, this place is stunning; I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything then." Dean quipped, but he quickly pressed his mouth to Cas' plump lips and kissed him gently to placate the smaller man.

"Where are we?"

"This is the place where John found me, not exactly here mind, but this is the forest where I lived. Whenever I was afraid or lonely, I'd sit by the lake and pretend to fish with my imaginary best friend. I thought we could – you know…"

"We don't have any fishing equipment." Cas was too choked up with emotion to say anything sentimental, so he went for humor instead.

"Well, I can think of other ways to entertain ourselves." Dean waggled his eyebrow suggestively.

"Dean, are you sure you want to?" Cas looked uncertain, although he and Dean had been together for years, they had still never had sex and both men were still virgins. Both had decided that they would never have sex with anyone outside their relationship, even when they weren't officially a couple, but whenever they tried together, Dean would have a panic attack or fail to become erect.

Dean was, of course, humiliated with this.

He had even been to the doctors, who had announced that he had erectile dysfunction, caused by psychological trauma.

In reality, this meant that Dean couldn't bottom because he got too claustrophobic and it reminded him of being pinned down and beaten by his father.

He also couldn't top, because he was too frightened to hurt Castiel, which led to him panicking, which meant that he couldn't 'get it up.'

Of course, Castiel had been incredibly gracious about this, always telling Dean that it wasn't his fault, that he didn't blame him, or care. It was just sex. It didn't matter, he loved Dean, and that was enough.

However, Dean knew that Cas was probably beyond sexually frustrated by now, hell, he sure was.

But it just seemed right to consummate their relationship on Valentine's day, as sappy and chick flick as that was.

"Yes Cas, I want to try again. Just, you know-"

Cas nodded gently, pulling Dean in close and kissing him softly, his fingers running underneath Dean's shirt and gently teasing at his nipples.

"Oh God! Cas, you're amazing."

"Shhh, just relax. Look at me Dean, just look at me. I'll take care of you, you're safe."

And Dean believed it.

Cas gently unbuttoned his shirt and began to cover Dean's torso with soft kisses, paying particular attention to the scars that littered his chest, the old stab wound on his shoulder and Dean's nipples.

He gently teased the soft skin, nibbling gently and eliciting a gasp from Dean, who had begun to pull off Cas' trench coat.

When both men were naked from the waist up, they continued to kiss, exploring each other's mouths until eventually Dean began to undo Cas' zipper, and pulled them both up.

Soon both men were rid of everything and they settled back down, Cas sitting cross legged with Dean in front of him.

"Dean, I have an idea about how to make this work. I know you don't like being pinned down, and that you don't want to penetrate me, so why don't I top from the bottom. You get to be on top, but you have no way of hurting me."

Dean nodded, amazed that they had never thought of this before.

"Please Cas, need you." Dean seated himself of Cas' lap, rutting their unclothed cocks together and gasping at the amazing sensations running through his body. Cas was now rock hard, leaking precome and moaning in pleasure.

But Dean was still soft.

"Please Cas, I need you to take me."

"Dean, you're not hard, I don't want to do this if you're not ready."

"I'm ready, so ready. I need you inside of me. Lube – in my – ah! In my jacket pocket."

Cas scrambled for said lube, coating his fingers liberally and circling his index finger around Dean's rim.

"Just tell me if you-"

"Dammit Cas, do it or I'll have to impale myself on you."

Cas smirked and gently slid in his first finger, gasping at how warm Dean was and how his muscles clenched around the intrusion.

"More Cas, feels so good."

Cas complied, fingering Dean and stretching him until eventually Dean was writhing on three of his long fingers.

"I'm ready, now."

Cas nodded, pouring lube onto the his penis before gently pressing his head to Dean's hole.

Taking it slowly, he inserted himself inch by inch until eventually Dean was fully seated on him.

"So good, move, need you to move baby, please – ah, god! Yes, like that, please-"

Cas rolled his hips languidly, setting a slow pace and gasping in surprise when he could see Dean becoming hard due to the blissful friction against his prostate.

He tentatively shifted a hand and wrapped it around Dean's shaft, pumping gently until Dean was eight inches long. Cas couldn't believe it, and nor could Dean, but neither commented.

Dean was too busy gasping and moaning like a pornstar, gripping onto the tree trunk that Cas was leaning on whilst the blue eyed man thrust into him and fisted his cock.

All of a sudden, an intense feeling of pleasure swept over Dean and before he could give Cas any warning, he came all over both of their stomachs.

Cas rode him out through the orgasm, climaxing himself before Dean slid off of him and collapsed on his chest.

"That was-"

"Heavenly."

Both men gave a short laugh before kissing again and wandering over to the lake to clean up.

They stepped into the clear blue water, but the only blue Dean saw was that of Castiel's eyes as they gently bathed each other's skin and embraced, neither man wanting to let go of the other.

The End


End file.
